


Diplomacy (is the Art of Telling People to Go to Hell in Such a Way that They Ask for Directions)

by stilinstuck (superagentwolf)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, Diplomacy, Emissary Alan Deaton, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 23:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/stilinstuck
Summary: The initiation of a new round of wolves is not something Derek is looking forward to; the Accord is just a nuisance to him, especially since his family is still fractured from the fire. When he runs into the trainee Emissary, however, Derek starts to enjoy Pack diplomacy.Maybe a little too much.





	Diplomacy (is the Art of Telling People to Go to Hell in Such a Way that They Ask for Directions)

“ _Five?_ ”

“Yes, Derek. Five,” Talia says, tilting her head minutely. Her hair slides over her shoulder in a dark curtain, but it does nothing to hide her sharp gaze.

Nothing can hide his mother’s piercing Alpha eyes.

“Isn’t that…a bit much.” He can’t even pose it as a question; he’s too busy being put off by the idea. Not one, but five new wolves. Five new teenagers- _kids_ \- to train and incorporate into the Pack. Five new members, none of them family. None of them blood. It makes his skin itch.

“You’re a bit much,” Cora mutters, snatching his uneaten sandwich from his hand. He doesn’t even have the energy to snarl or get it back. Talia rolls her eyes at the exchange.

“Derek, the Accord is meant to create trust. You know this. There’s a reason we work _with_ the Argents, now. With an Emissary.”

“Deaton doesn’t like to be called an Emissary,” Derek reminds her, crossing his arms. Intuitively, he knows he shouldn’t be arguing with his Alpha. Still, he’s not just a wolf; he’s a son. And he argues with his mother, probably more than she appreciates.

“Well, that’s what he _is_ ,” Talia murmurs, turning on her heel to walk past him.

Caius is at the foot of the stairs when they enter the living room. His hand, outstretched, is dangling a silver necklace. Talia smiles indulgently, turning to let her husband carefully drape it around her neck. Derek almost feels uncomfortable watching them; the way his father’s hands linger carefully and pull his mother’s hair aside somehow intimate. He doesn’t want to give in, however, so he waits. Talia casts him a long-suffering look when he remains. Caius just leans against the banister, a smile playing across his lips.

“How can we trust them? Five of them, all teenagers, with no ties to us or our world-,”

“Do you really want to argue about that?”

His heart sticks in his throat. He’d been expecting the hit, but hoping against it. It’s been years since he was that child, so easily enticed and poisoned by Kate. Healing had been a long time in the works, but it had come. Except sometimes, they slip back into old wounds. Like this.

Caius steps from the banister, something cautious in his manner. He’s not like Derek or Talia, which is probably why they both rely on them so much. Why Derek feels like he can talk to his father more.

“Dear,” the man says carefully, leaning close to his wife. “This isn’t the argument we should be having.”

Talia sighs, visibly unwinding the smallest amount. Derek wishes he could do the same. _I’ll never understand the language he can speak with her. How it works._

“Derek,” Talia says calmly, “They’ve been vetted by both Deaton and Chris. They’re good kids. This isn’t a question of being worthy. And Pack is not just blood. It goes beyond that.”

“I understand that they’ve been accepted by the others,” Derek tries, “but we’re _different_. They’re not wolves-,”

“No. Which makes them the perfect judges,” Talia says, an eyebrow arched. “Derek, what would you do if your younger sister were human?”

“What-,” Derek starts, before cutting himself off. _What does that have to do with anything?_ “What do you mean, what would I do?”

“Would you treat her any differently?”

“Of course not. I’d be more careful when sparring, but-,”

“There’s a reason Packs have human members. Why some have Druids and Witches in their number. We’re stronger the more diverse we are. The more accepting,” Talia emphasizes, both eyebrows now arched at him like they’re judging him the way she is.

He knows the argument is over. It was won before it began, of course, but he had wanted to try. To voice his worry and discomfort. He doesn’t like the idea of five strangers coming into his home or onto his land. It sets him on edge. He watches his parents shrug on their jackets, preparing for the evening. It’s the first of their meetings with the new members. They will talk with the candidates, ensure that they agree with the choices, and then there will be a Pack introduction. After that, the dates will be set and the new wolves will be welcomed into the fold.

It’s a process, which he’s thankful for. He finds part of him hoping that one or two will drop out- not right or accepted by the Alpha. He isn’t fond of the change he can see looming on the horizon.

Derek waits for the end of the night, pretending to read one of Peter’s books on the couch, and wonders what his parents will think of the five teenagers. If any of them are worthy of being part of the Hale pack.

If they’ll make the same mistakes he did.

* * *

“This just proves my reservations about all of…this,” Noah says, waving a hand over the kitchen.

The disaster zone, as it were.

Stiles chews on his lip, studiously avoiding direct eye contact with his father. It reeks of rosemary- which is not a bad thing- but there is also dirt and dust all around the room, surfaces smeared in essential oil and glass scattered on the floor.

“Can we agree that this probably would have happened anyway?”

“…yeah. You’re right. Maybe you should just not.”

“Not- what? Live?” Stiles sputters, fluttering his arms and nearly falling over. Again. His father scrubs a hand over his face.

“Why don’t I leave you to clean this up. I’m assuming dinner isn’t ready.”

The second half of his statement is hopeful. Stiles shoots a glare at his father, halfway in the act of reaching for a broom.

“You’re _not_ getting burgers,” Stiles jabs a finger at him. “Whatever you get, bring it home so I can-,”

Noah is already halfway out the door, hurriedly making a beeline for his car.

“-see what you’re eating!” Stiles yells, slumping against the counter in defeat when the door shuts. He’s fairly certain his father will take his food to the station to ‘do paperwork’. Or hide a double-stacked burger.

Stiles surveys the kitchen. He’d been trying to set up some vials for his personal stores, following the simple directions from Deaton. Just an easy setup. He had, of course, made some mistakes- one of which was sneezing and dropping a spice jar. He’d also knocked over the oil and made a bigger mess trying to quickly sop it up. He wishes, not for the first time, that he had somewhere to work his magic.

The doorbell rings and Stiles sighs, trying to pick his way across the floor without treading the mess into the hall. He yells at the closed door as he goes.

“Did you forget your keys again? Dad, the next time, I might not-,”

He opens the door to a crooked grin.

“Scott? Weren’t you-,”

“I was. We’re done,” Scott says quickly, almost breathless. He makes his way inside before visibly recoiling from the smell in the kitchen, confused. “What’s-,”

“I was making some stuff for Deaton. Well, for me,” Stiles corrects, waving a hand dismissively. He shoves a chair towards Scott, watching his friend sit backwards in it as Stiles begins to clean the kitchen. “How’d it go?”

“Great, I think,” Scott says earnestly, hopeful. “They were really nice. Kind of scary- Talia, I mean, the Alpha- but nice. Caius was pretty quiet. They had a lot of questions for us.”

“Like what? I mean- what you can tell me, that is,” Stiles adds, “I know it’s technically super-secret.”

“Stiles, you’re training as an Emissary,” Scott reminds him, “I don’t think it matters if I tell you.”

“Yeah, I’m _training_ ,” Stiles repeats, sweeping a hand over the mess. “But okay. What did they ask, then?”

“Just a lot about our families,” Scott muses, “which makes sense, I guess. History. But yeah- they asked about our families and whether we would tell them. Whether we thought it was fair to them. Why we wanted the bite in the first place…”

“That’s pretty heavy,” Stiles muses, sweeping the last bits of glass from the floor. “But it makes sense. They need to know you understand how serious it is.”

“Yeah. I mean- we’re technically two years from legal adulthood but I guess it’s safer at a younger age?”

“Kind of,” Stiles agrees, “I mean, according to Deaton’s stuff, it’s possible that the younger you are, the better it works. But there’s debate over whether that was like, just bad health associated with the dark ages and being old or-,”

“Stiles.”

“All right,” Stiles smirks, “No _boring_ Emissary stuff. Anyway- how did the others do?”

“…I’m not sure,” Scott admits, looking a little worried. _He’s cut out for Pack life,_ Stiles thinks. Always worrying about everyone else. “Erica seemed okay. Boyd…I can never tell. Isaac was…quieter. I’m not sure if that’s bad or if he was serious. And Jackson-,”

“Jackson will be fine,” Stiles snorts, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Not just because the guy is with Lydia but because he knows. Jackson’s cut out to be a werewolf. He’s already overly physical and charismatic; he’ll be unstoppable. It might force him to learn limits, though, which will turn out fantastically for everyone else in the world.

“Well, I guess we’ll know next Friday.”

“That soon?”

“Yeah. That’s when they told me the meeting is at the Hale house. We’ll meet the Pack and then they’ll let us know who’s been accepted.”

“…cool,” Stiles manages, head swirling. _One week from today, my best friend could be a werewolf._ It’s a lot to wrap his head around. Not that he hasn’t had time to think about it- he’s had time since Freshman year. Since Scott had first brought it up.

He’d been shocked. Stiles had just been finding out for himself what his father knew- what he’d suspected- that something supernatural was in Beacon Hills. It had taken years of doubt and piecing together the Sheriff’s work for Stiles to come up with the truth. Just as he had, though, Scott had started dating Allison Argent and inadvertently found out. Scott and Stiles had both coped together, dealing with the revelation of werewolves existing, and they’d both gone two ways about it. Stiles had started training with Deaton- after the ordeal of trying to convince his father- and Scott had decided to pursue candidacy.

 _Candidacy_. Such a normal word for something so bizarre. It was the Accord, Deaton had told Stiles. The old-fashioned name for a treaty between Hunter and Werewolf, mediated by an Emissary. Every ten years, submissions of candidacy for new Pack members would be reviewed. At least one would be accepted. It was meant to encourage cooperation and openness. The new Pack members could choose, technically, to become wolves or train as a Hunter, Witch, or Druid. _Packs come in all shapes and sizes,_ Deaton had told Stiles, _although it’s most common to only have wolves._

“If I get in…maybe I can ask if you can come,” Scott offers, looking hopeful.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles says, smiling lopsidedly. “It’s a protected rite. It wouldn’t be right. Anyway, you’ll be with the others. And your new Pack. They’ll know how to take care of you.”

“…maybe I want _you_ there,” Scott says, tucking his chin onto his crossed arms.

It makes Stiles warm to hear the words. It somehow reminds him _we’re best friends, nothing will change_. Even though everything will.

“I know,” Stiles smiles, trying to ease the tension, “but look what I did to the kitchen. Maybe we should just plan for dinner after, huh?”

Scott laughs, the worry evaporating, and Stiles knows he’s done his job. For now.

_Can I still do it once he’s turned?_

* * *

He’s not pouting.

“Bring me back some pie when you’re done sulking!” Laura yells as he walks out the door. He slams it just a little.

His parents had loved the kids, apparently. Talia had _not_ stopped going on about Scott, who was apparently ‘an absolute sweetheart’. Caius was already planning trust exercises for Isaac, who was- according to the man- the most vulnerable and valuable of all of them, in terms of Pack. The names flooded in conversation- Erica, the only young woman who already has Talia’s respect and Boyd, the quiet one whose strength goes beyond the physical. By the end of it, Derek’s hope for a narrowing of candidacy had evaporated.

He’s not sure how to feel about it, so he decides to take the chance to go to Deaton under the premise of picking up items for the ceremony. The ceremony, which is two weeks away, but suddenly so guaranteed. Derek escapes to his car and drives to the clinic, not sure when the last time he visited was.

 _Maybe I can get more from Deaton,_ he thinks. _More about these strangers that might be part of my Pack so soon._

He can tell that there’s someone else in the clinic. He can only get a fleeting scent through the protective barrier and animals- honey, some bitter medicine, and the alarming scent of smoke. He’s not sure how to feel about someone who carries the lingering scent of fire.

“Derek? May I help you?” Deaton appears out of nowhere, almost unnoticed as Derek concentrates on the _other_ scent.

“Is someone here?” Derek murmurs, eyes sliding towards the back room. Deaton walks towards the back, a large paper bag in his arms. Something in the man’s expression shifts from questioning to sly. Derek doesn’t half trust it.

“Not a citizen,” Deaton says, vaguely amused. Derek feels his mouth flatten into a line at the term. It’s a clumsy reference to the… _normal_ people of Beacon Hills.

“I can always come back-,”

“No, go on in. I’ll be back in a moment,” the man says, splitting away to walk towards another room. Derek hesitates, one foot on the side of the door.

“Go in.”

He does not jump at the repeated command.

“Excuse me,” Derek says, opening the door as he speaks, and there’s a loud _whack_ followed by a cry and the beginnings of a curse.

_Oh, fuck._

The guy he just hit in the face with the door is bent over, only the top of his head visible, dark hair sticking up in a million different directions. Derek can feel his heart racing, panic in his throat. He can just imagine who he’s hit- some foreign Emissary, some Witch consultant, someone no doubt _important_ and he’s just clocked them with a damn door.

“Sorry,” Derek says quickly, swallowing his dread, trying to come up with a passable apology. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Ugh- dude, what the hell, did the door do something to you-,” the guy says, sounding pained. He turns to walk towards the sink, the tap turned quickly as a hand reaches for paper towels. Derek can smell blood. He feels a wave of nausea hit him, accompanied by dread.

“I didn’t expect- what were you doing behind the door?” The accusation slips out and Derek is mortified. _Someone give me a shovel._

“What was I- I wasn’t _behind_ it, first of all,” the guy says, clearly aggravated, “I was going to open the door before you decided to _open my face_.”

“I didn’t…look, tilt your head back,” Derek sighs, reaching to pull the guy’s chin back, and that’s when it happens.

He’s not sure what possessed him to touch the stranger but the moment he does he feels a small spark, like static. It burns his fingertips even as he marvels at how _soft_ the skin is beneath his fingers. Derek can hardly keep up with the touch before he sees eyes so light brown they’re almost golden, sharp and clear, gazing back at him with a strength and defiance he’s only ever really seen in an Alpha. It makes him drop his hand immediately, no matter how compelling he finds the touch.

 _I’m fucked._ Not only is the stranger young- probably seventeen at most- but he’s also kind of beautiful. Okay, maybe _really_ beautiful.

“Thanks, asshole, I just swallowed my own blood,” the guy sighs, mopping at the last trickle of bright red below his nose. His eyes are still sharp and suspicious.

“I…”

“What happened?” Deaton asks, his tone long-suffering as he enters the room. “Stiles-,”

_Stiles._

“It wasn’t me,” Stiles says sharply. He immediately seems to reel himself back, exhaling through his mouth. “This fool-,”

“You mean Derek,” Deaton says, raising both eyebrows.

Stiles- whoever he is- suddenly freezes. His mouth tightens into a line, tension drawing on his shoulders. The change is almost immediate. It’s as if he’s drawing behind some sort of wall, protecting himself. Derek feels both hurt and confused by it- _I’m not some dangerous animal_ \- but he reminds himself he did just hit Stiles with a door.

“Derek Hale,” Stiles says, eyes sliding grudgingly just left of Derek’s face. Derek finds that he misses the fierce gaze and he almost wants to guide Stiles’ gaze back towards him, maybe with a careful hand… “You’re not supposed to tilt your head back for a nosebleed.”

And with that gem, Stiles bows curtly and exits the room.

Derek is left watching the space left behind, somehow missing an inexplicable warmth that isn’t there. It takes him a full minute to realize Deaton is watching him, waiting, an eyebrow arched in silent judgement. Derek is getting tired of eyebrow judgment.

“Who was-,”

“Let’s not,” Deaton says drily, passing Derek a paper bag. “That’s what you’ll need.”

Derek can tell he isn’t going to get anything more out of Deaton about Stiles. He’s not sure why the man is being tight-lipped. He’s also not sure what to think about the fact that some strange teenager has captured his attention. _What were those sparks I felt?_ He can’t come up with a way to bring it back up, so he switches topics, hoping it will help him get answer.

“…you’ve met the candidates?”

“Yes. That’s part of my job.” Derek doesn’t miss the sarcasm, thinly veiled. _Emissaries._

“What did you think of them?”

“Clearly good things, since I forwarded them for candidacy,” Deaton says mildly. He seems to recognize Derek’s annoyance, though, and finally pities him. “They _are_ good kids- and they’re all missing something. They could benefit more than anyone from the bite.”

“They’re missing something?”

“Did you listen to the rest of what I said?”

“How can they be perfect if they’re missing something?”

“Erica has seizures,” Deaton says evenly. The words hit Derek as hard as he suspects the door hit Stiles. _Now I feel like an ass._ He thinks that was Deaton’s intention. “She lives her life not knowing what she’ll be doing when one comes. Not knowing when it will happen or if anyone will be around to help. If anyone will care.”

“…I didn’t-,”

“You don’t know,” Deaton says smoothly, “And you need to understand that. There are things, Derek, that you do not know you do not know. I’d think you, of all people, would understand that trusting your Alpha is important. That there’s a reason the Hunters and I join the process. We rely on each other. We see each other’s blind spots.”

It’s probably the most-needed _you know better_ he’s ever received. It’s the first in a long time, too. He can remember quite clearly the last time he heard anything like this. It was much more serious and a little too late.

“It’s a lot of new members,” Derek says quietly, hoping he can communicate what he means. _I just barely started feeling safe with my family, again. Feeling safe for them._

“It’s time,” Deaton says mildly. The meaning carries.

The conversation is over, much like it was with Talia. Derek turns away, opening the door, and then he sees Stiles leaning against the wall across from the door. He feels conflicted at once- angry at being overheard, embarrassed at seeming somehow incompetent or rude, sorry for hurting the obviously-human young man.

“…you heard,” Derek says. It’s not a question. Stiles seems to recognize that, a vaguely irritated look crossing his face before disappearing.

“Yeah, I heard Deaton spouting _Colors of the Wind_ lines at you,” Stiles says drily. Derek almost chokes.

Without his head obscured or tilted away, Derek can tell a few things about Stiles. He’s _young_. A teenager. His nose is slightly upturned; his skin is pale but dotted with dark moles, the contrast like a negative of stars in the sky. His eyes are just as liquid and unfaltering as before, chin tilted slightly in a way that seems to suggest he’ll put up a fight when needed.

Everything about him is unfortunately attractive and Derek isn’t sure how to handle it.

“Disney?” the word somehow comes out with the mixed exasperation and helplessness Derek is feeling.

“We’re not at _Star Wars_ level yet,” Stiles winks.

He winks and Derek wants to die. He manages to stay upright, though, and he studiously glares at the wall while Stiles sidesteps him and goes back into the clinic room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Somehow, Derek is in his car before he realizes he’s blushing. He glares daggers at the clinic as if it’ll spit Stiles out so he can… _what? Stop. He’s a kid and you don’t even know him._

 _But you want to,_ a small voice says, and Derek throws the car in reverse while turning up the volume on his radio. He’s got five teenagers to worry about. He doesn’t need another, even if they have beautiful eyes and a perpetually-curling mouth.

* * *

It’s Friday and everyone is excited. No matter how much Derek wants to avoid it, it’s infectious and he can feel it starting to hitch in his heart. Laura is making dinner with Peter and Caius. Malia and Cora are sparring in the backyard, getting the last of their energy out. Talia is the only one relatively unoccupied, leaning back in a recliner with a glass of wine. Derek finds his place across from her, wondering what he should say, if anything.

“I went to Deaton’s the other day.”

“I know. You told me,” Talia says, half-smiling. He can almost see the ghost of Stiles’ smile, similarly cocky, and it sets his heart off unwillingly.

“I talked to Deaton. There’s…a lot I don’t know about them. The candidates.”

“Yes. There is,” Talia agrees, sipping her red wine. “Tell me, Derek. What is the bite?”

Another left-fielder. He should be used to it by now- it’s her way of keeping him on his toes. She does it the same way she trains her Pack; verbal sparring, little twists and turns that make them think. Peter is like her in that way, he thinks.

“It’s a gift-,”

“Please think before you open your mouth,” she interrupts silkily. The only indication of her displeasure is the echo in their bond and the small line next to her mouth. A clench of teeth.

“It…it _is_ ,” Derek starts, a little frustrated. _How can I not say what I feel?_ “It’s…we have it-,”

“ _We_ have it,” Talia repeats, swirling her glass in hand. “What about Lucero?”

A cousin. His age, actually. She’d been bitten two years after the Kate incident and the near-death of his family. The few extended family the Hales had- in Mexico and otherwise- had all reached out after the fire. There had been a need.

“She didn’t, but she was changed,” Derek says, still not sure where Talia is going. “But she grew up with Pack. She knew-,”

“These candidates, Derek- they’ve spent almost a year learning our ways. Learning how to behave so that they may transition as easily as possible. They’ve been through a lot- they’re all in high school and some of them have problems. Health, family. They have lives, outside of this.”

“Then shouldn’t they be living those?”

“Maybe,” Talia says, tilting her head, eyes sharp. “But should we decide for them?”

“We can decide who to bite.”

“Maybe. But they could always ask another Pack.”

“That would be dangerous. Against tradition and-,”

“But they’re not like us. They haven’t grown up around Pack.”

She smirks and the pieces fall into place. He can see the picture, such as it is, but he still isn’t sure if he likes it. Not when he’s so out of his element. He doesn’t _know_ anything about these new candidates. _You don’t know what you don’t know._ He can hear Deaton in his head. He definitely doesn’t like that, even if the man’s right.

“…they deserve a chance, you mean. Even if they have problems.”

“Especially because they have problems,” Talia says evenly. “These aren’t just _kids_ , Derek. They have their battles. If giving them this can help them endure, they deserve that chance. They’re not doing this for power or status. They’re doing this for all the right reasons.”

The doorbell rings and Talia leaves to answer. Derek stays where he is, looking at his interlaced hands. _For all the right reasons?_ He’s not sure what those are, even if Talia seems to be sure. _Will I ever understand the way she does?_ He thinks of his mistakes, the past and present and everything between. Problems. _Would I have been more serious- more careful- if I had problems, too? If I’d been struggling when Kate came along?_ He knows better than to blame himself; if he was overconfident, it was no excuse for what Kate did. Still, he can’t help but wonder how being more aware would have changed things.

Talia leads the teenagers in and Derek turns to watch them make their way to the kitchen, to meet the next in line- Caius and Laura.

They really are kids- but somehow, like Talia said, not just. Erica, a defiant tilt to her chin but weariness in her eyes. Boyd, immediately recognizable by his large frame but somehow small and careful. Scott, all smiles and warm eyes. Jackson, whom Talia had mentioned in passing with a curious tone- confident, already exuding charisma and power, yet somehow closed off. Isaac, tall and clear-eyed but withdrawn. _Five,_ Derek thinks, and it’s a little scary how right it feels. How much they seem to fit into place.

He learns over dinner about Boyd’s fractured family. Erica’s seizures. Scott’s single mother and absent father and his asthma. Isaac’s father and brother. The way Jackson feels directionless. The secrets are heavy and Derek almost doesn’t want them but he respects the information. He knows how difficult it must be- divulging secrets not only to strangers and wolves but to each other. If they aren’t accepted, they’ll know all about one another anyway. The threads between them will never dissolve.

By the time they leave, he feels guilty for having doubted.

“You can see a little clearer now,” Caius murmurs as they wash dishes, the rest of the Pack seeing the teens off.

“I think so.”

“It’s not a crime to be careful, Derek. Or protective.”

“Maybe not. But it was…”

“Fine,” Caius says, smiling faintly. “There are people who trust too quickly and those who trust too slowly. We need both- and everyone in between- to function as a Pack. Voicing your opinion isn’t dissension. It’s discussion.”

“…sometimes, you sound a lot like the English professor you are,” Derek mutters, even though he can feel a smile growing on his face.

“Maybe,” his father laughs, passing him a plate. “But it’s true. You weren’t wrong in your questioning, Derek. Questions are healthy. Especially with what we’ve been through.”

“I just- didn’t know how to handle it. It feels like we’ve just started…being normal again.”

“We’re werewolves,” Caius smiles. “And normal isn’t strong. We need a little bit of extraordinary, to last as Pack.”

“Maybe.”

“Certainly.”

He feels better after talking to his father- he always does- and Derek goes to bed thinking that maybe the new additions won’t be the worst thing to happen to the Pack. _Maybe the change is good,_ he thinks. _A chance to learn._

Not that he knows what he’ll learn. But he’s starting to learn that not knowing isn’t the worst thing in the world- not when he has others to trust and rely on.

* * *

“I’m going to need you there. If not for my benefit, then for yours.”

“I don’t think-,”

“This happens once every ten years,” Deaton says, emphasizing each word, “and you need to be prepared. You know that.”

“I do,” Stiles agrees, “but I’m not sure the first time is the best. Especially since I haven’t met any of them.”

“You’ve met Derek.”

“Don’t remind me,” Stiles mutters under his breath, rearranging the ash samples for what feels like the thousandth time. It probably is.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to the ceremony. He does- very much so, in fact. It’s just that…he’s not sure how to handle it. Scott’s going to change, of course, but then there’s also the fact that Stiles will be surrounded by a werewolf family he knows about but has never met.

And then there’s Derek.

He hadn’t counted on such a stupidly attractive man. Of course he looks like a male model; Stiles knows someone somewhere is laughing at him. Especially after the incident at the clinic. Stiles had resorted to his usual sarcasm as a shield when he’d been faced with Derek. Derek, who has forest eyes and the most beautiful jawline Stiles has ever seen.

_I’m toast._

“It’s in an hour,” Deaton continues, not seeming to notice his protégé’s conflict, “Take some time to go home and change. It’s not formal but I don’t want you smelling like dogs.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea,” Stiles says, but he leaves anyway.

He spends his shower trying to think of what he’ll say. _The Hale pack._ He knows Malia and Cora from school. The candidates, of course, he knows. His reservations aren’t about them. His reservations are about Talia, the Alpha, whose opinion is the most important. Caius, her husband and second in command. Laura, the heir apparent. Peter, the uncle who had apparently been the most damaged by the fire.

Derek.

It’s not until he’s driving to the clinic that Stiles wonders, horrified, if Derek told his family about what happened at the clinic. _Did he tell them about the annoying human he hit with a door? Did he tell them about the disrespect he received from a training Emissary?_ He has to swallow his heart a little when he parks, joining Deaton in the man’s car before they begin driving towards the edge of town.

“Don’t be nervous,” Deaton says evenly, staring straight ahead. “They can tell when you’re nervous.”

“Comforting,” Stiles says shortly. He reigns his fears in, though. _I have Deaton on my side, kind of. His approval must count for something._ He thinks at least he won’t be murdered on sight by the Hale family. Getting out alive is honestly his only goal.

When they arrive, some of the Hales are milling around outside. Cora and Malia are talking on a corner of the porch- probably wishing they were sparring- and an unfamiliar man is leaning against the banister.

“Peter,” Deaton greets the man, barely inclining his head. The veterinarian has made no secret of his distrust of Peter.

The wolf’s eyes slide right past Deaton, landing on Stiles. _So blue._ He also looks unfairly attractive, Stiles thinks, like most werewolves- but there’s something distinctly more lupine about him. Sandy hair and an amused face. His posture seems to suggest he’s always ready to lunge or fight. There are shadows behind his bright eyes, Stiles thinks. He’s seen the same ones in his father. It makes him wonder what Peter is carrying with him.

“Who is this?”

“This-,” Deaton starts, jaw clinching the smallest amount, and Stiles decides to intercede. _I’m no good if they don’t respect me at least a little. And something tells me Peter only responds to power._

“Stiles.” He offers his hand, ignoring the daggers he feels on his back from Deaton’s gaze. Peter watches Stiles’ hand for a moment, a playfully venomous smile on his lips. Eventually, though, he accepts it. His fingers slip over Stiles’ wrist, probably feeling the pulse. Stiles forces himself not to shiver. His heart is steady, for now.

“Stiles. That’s unique.”

“It fits,” Stiles smirks. He can’t help it. Peter’s grin grows in response, his head tilting. His eyes say that he’s found something- Stiles isn’t sure what- and it must be good. He seems pleased.

“I’ll be looking forward to you,” Peter says smoothly, inclining his head towards the door.

It’s an invitation. Maybe it’s not from the best person but Stiles thinks it says something that Peter- the reportedly anti-outsider one- is doing the inviting. He doesn’t have time to respond, though, because Deaton spouts the requisite pleasantry before steering Stiles through the front door. He doesn’t say anything- the wolves can hear- but his pressed lips and sharp gaze seem to say _you shouldn’t have done that._ There’s no disappointment in his face, though, so Stiles suspects Deaton is secretly pleased.

“Deaton! It’s good to see you.” The woman approaching is, Stiles knows, Talia. He can immediately see the similarities between her and Derek- the same proud face, the same upright and bold posture. She walks as if she isn’t concerned about the earth beneath her feet. As if it will always be there for her.

“Talia. It’s always a pleasure,” Deaton smiles. _So, he likes her,_ Stiles thinks. The man’s openness is not just tradition or strategy. He genuinely likes her.

“This must be Stiles,” Talia says carefully. She turns and Stiles matches her gaze, knowing it’s important to do so. _Only wolves recognize a hierarchy. Emissaries respect it- they don’t respond to it._ “I’ve heard much about you.”

“I’m sure I appreciate that,” Stiles says. He nods his head in acknowledgement. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Alpha Hale.”

The small curve at the corner of her mouth is both pleased and surprised. _I have to show them I know what I’m doing._ _One day, I could be their Emissary._ He knows Deaton doesn’t like the title; he prefers to stay out of Pack dynamics. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d honestly think Deaton were training him as quickly as possible just to get out of his duties.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t aware you were bringing your student,” Talia says, guiding them towards the backyard. “I would have arranged introductions.”

It’s not exactly chiding, but it’s enough to let Stiles know he was right. The only reason Deaton is getting away with this is because the mood is celebratory anyway. And Deaton gets away with a lot.

“I thought it was a good opportunity,” Deaton says mildly, surveying the backyard as they step onto the grass. “Especially since there’s technically already been a misstep.”

Stiles’ heart drops into his stomach. _Oh, Jesus._ He should have known.

“Oh? What misstep?” Talia’s eyes are suddenly sharper. A man comes towards them- _Caius_ \- and Stiles wants to lay down on the grass and die. _Is this entire family models? Am I doomed to die among the beautiful?_

“Derek visited me the other day,” Deaton says evenly. “Unfortunately, he visited Stiles’ nose with a door, as well.”

Stiles can’t help turning to stare at Deaton. _What the hell?!_ He wants to apologize, paradoxically, for the spilled secret, as if it’s his fault. Not that it would stop them from killing him. He knows, even though the injury was minor, there’s probably some sort of consequence for the incident. It’s why he hadn’t made an issue of it. Yet here Deaton is, bringing it up like it’s some sort of amusing situation.

“Did he, now,” Talia murmurs, eyes darker. Stiles can see her husband trying not to smile behind her. _Oh, God._ Talia raises her voice. “Derek?”

The man comes running from who knows where and Stiles wants to crawl into a hole and die. He wants the earth to swallow him up. He wants to dissolve into a puddle. He can already feel the eyes of the candidates on him- Scott, clearly excited but knowing better than to approach while the Alpha is speaking with him. Even Derek seems unsure when he walks up to them.

“Yes?”

“Deaton tells me you injured Stiles,” Talia says mildly. It’s the same tone of voice Stiles has heard his father use. _Bad cop._ Caius is still struggling to maintain a serious face. Stiles wants to ask him _what the hell is so funny? Your wife is about to disembowel your son. Or maybe me._

“It was an accident,” Derek admits carefully, “and I did apologize. I didn’t see a reason to notify you. He is a human, but it didn’t seem like a serious injury.”

“You know, Derek, it would be unfortunate for the future Emissary’s first impression of our Pack to be that we use unnecessary force and do not acknowledge our mistakes. Tell me, son, how did you manage to hit someone with a door?”

Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone get as pale as Derek does. He registers the change with horror at first and then amusement. _Did he not realize I was Deaton’s student?_ He wonders what it is about him that Derek doesn’t think is Emissary material. _Well, other than getting smacked by a door, maybe._ Caius is now staring at the ground because he can’t stop his grin. Stiles decides maybe- even if this is Pack business and Alpha territory- he should intervene. It doesn’t help that his mouth runs faster than his thoughts; he’s already speaking by the time he decides to try and rescue Derek.

“To be fair, my first introduction to your Pack would technically have been at school,” Stiles says. “I have classes with Malia and Cora. They’re respectively very good at biology and calculus. I typically set my goals by their example.”

Caius finally raises his head. His smile is no longer amused- it’s pleased. _A compliment and recognition, along with de-escalation,_ Stiles thinks. A use of verbal acrobatics. The type of contortionism Deaton has been teaching him to use. Even Derek seems surprised by the comment; he blinks a few too many times.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Talia says, mouth twitching. _She was messing with him,_ Stiles realizes, horrified and amused. _She wasn’t angry. She was just trying to scare him._ He almost wants to sink to the ground in relief. “I’m sure Malia and Cora don’t need any further praise, though. Goodness knows they’re hard enough to deal with now.”

“Perhaps our new members will provide needed resistance,” Caius muses. “In the meantime, Stiles, please make yourself comfortable. We’ll begin shortly.”

“Thank you.”

The two Hales walk away and Deaton follows, either by some quiet direction or on instinct. Stiles stays where he is, waiting, and notices Derek is still by his side. _Is this the part where he kills me? Does he think I told them about the door?_

“Why are you here?”

_Okay. Right into the defense, then._

“Deaton,” Stiles says, raising an eyebrow. “I _am_ training. It would be an oversight not to attend.”

“It’s not safe,” Derek says lowly, glancing around the yard. “Five new-,”

“I’m well aware,” Stiles interrupts. “Your mistake to think I’m not protected. Anyway, I know all of them.”

“…you do.”

“Was that a question?”

Derek glares, half of which happens with his eyebrows. Stiles tries not to smile. He’s getting a feel for the man, he thinks. Standoffish, for good reason. Slow to trust. Prone to saying things in defense, rather than what he truly feels. The words that come to mind are _annoying_ and _frustrating._

Maybe also _endearing._

 _I’m screwed. I’m so screwed._ He’s starting to find Derek’s stupid eyebrows as attractive as the rest of him.

“I know all of them. They’re not…extremely close friends, but they’re friends,” Stiles explains.

“Do you like them?”

He almost responds with sass. Almost. He knows what the real question is- _do you trust them? Should I trust them?_ It catches him off guard that Derek would ask his opinion.

“I do. Isaac is smug, but he’s hiding so much pain. Erica is stronger than anyone else; she may be sharp but those sharp edges have protected her up until now. Boyd has endured for a long time and he’s always closed off, but he understands others more than he lets on. Even Jackson…I mean, he’s a popular asshole, but he has things to deal with, too.”

“And Scott?”

“Scott’s my brother,” Stiles says, feeling a faint smile gather on his lips. “Always has been. He’s got a heart of gold, even when he shouldn’t. He _cares_. He’ll bend over backwards to find peace before he considers anything remotely hurtful.”

“…you care about him a lot,” Derek murmurs, glancing sideways at Stiles. There’s respect in his eyes, and… _jealousy? No. I’m imagining it._

“Of course. We’ve known each other since elementary school. And he needs me to bring his ass down from the clouds, sometimes.”

“That’s kind of true,” Scott admits, walking closer. Stiles snorts.

“It’s very true.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He can feel, in that small moment, their connection. The knowledge that no matter what happens, they won’t change. He’ll always have Scott, werewolf or no. It takes a second to register that Derek is watching them and Stiles coughs a little, nervous.

“You should stay by the door, when it starts,” Derek offers, words stilted like teeth are being pulled from his mouth. “It’ll be safer.”

He leaves awkwardly. Stiles watches him go, thinking _I have my work cut out for me._

“Is he always like that?”

“…I don’t know. He seems…weirder, around you,” Scott says, frowning a little. “Maybe it’s because you’re human? Or an Emissary?”

“I’m not yet,” Stiles reminds him, shaking his head. “I think he’s just weird, period.”

“And he can probably hear you,” Scott reminds him, apologetic.

_Shit._

* * *

The first week is the hardest.

Thankfully, they’re on break, so Scott and the others can spend all their time with the Hales. That doesn’t mean things are going smoothly, though. When he gets a chance, Scott calls Stiles and updates him.

Erica is snappier than usual. Isaac is unsure of himself, almost afraid. Boyd is doing better. Jackson is…not great. Out of all of them, he’s apparently having the hardest time with control. Even Scott is apparently pining. For Allison, that is.

“ _I haven’t seen her in ages,_ ” Scott says, a half-whine echoing through the phone.

“Scott, dude, I hate to be that guy…but it’s only been five days. You need to focus on training, so you don’t rip her in half by accident.”

“ _I wouldn’t-,_ ”

“I know. But trust me, this stuff is serious. You have to be careful. And she’ll be there when you’re done, dude.” Stiles flips through the book in his lap, glancing out the window. It’s late evening and he’s doing some studying. Technically unsolicited studying. He took some of Deaton’s books.

“ _Okay. But I’m going to try harder. I want to leave as soon as possible._ ”

Stiles doesn’t tell him that attitude is probably not helping. Instead, he murmurs understanding words and hangs up after a few more minutes of Allison talk. When he’s done, he snaps the books shut and hauls himself off his bed with a sigh. There are only two more books in Deaton’s clinic stash he hasn’t read. Two technically off-bounds books, like the one he just finished.

 _It’s a good thing he’s out of town,_ Stiles thinks, throwing on a hoodie as he heads to his car. He has the next week to himself- and the books. He starts driving to the clinic, wondering what new secrets the books will reveal, and thinks _maybe being an Emissary is more interesting than I originally thought._ Maybe, he thinks, he can have enough power to protect people- even if he’s not a werewolf.

* * *

It’s almost hell. There are five new wolves and they all require looking after.

Well, maybe Boyd and Isaac less so, but. Five.

“You’re on lockup tonight,” Laura tells him as she walks by, eating a sandwich the size of her face. He’s hungry just looking at it.

“I know. Why…I know the basement is safe, but why aren’t we using any collars or-,”

“We’re not dogs,” Laura says sharply, “We don’t use those kinds of things.”

“They’re inexperienced and they’re not born wolves,” Derek points out, “It could help.”

“Not really,” Peter says drily, gazing at his nephew. “It’s more damaging than anything else. They need to learn how to control their shift without violence or threats attached. It should be natural.”

_I’ve messed up if Peter is telling me I’m wrong._

His family is winding down, showers running and Malia making hot chocolate. His duty, he knows, is to lock up and secure the new wolves. Keep an eye on them for a few hours, until they control their shift or fall asleep. It doesn’t even take a full moon for them to become unbalanced; they’re new and inexperienced. They have much to learn.

He descends the stairs at ten o’clock. The five are there, Scott talking to Isaac and Erica lounging near Boyd. Jackson is still in a cell. He hasn’t handled his shift, since the bite. Derek is starting to question whether turning him was a good idea.

“Time for jail?” Erica asks, running a hand through her blonde hair. There’s a hint of resentment in her voice. _Of course they don’t like being locked up. Wolves should never be locked in a cage._

“You know the drill,” Derek says, shutting the cell doors. They all file into their individual places, waiting. Once he’s finished, he sits in the center of the room, pushing a chair against the wall as he reaches for a book. One of Peter’s bestiaries.

_It’s going to be a long night._

* * *

It’s been a week and a half since the ceremony and Stiles is getting antsy. Scott has reported that all of the wolves except Jackson have successfully learned how to control their shift; they’ve moved out of lockup and started training. Everything seems to be going well, he says, and some of them have already found their places- Erica fits seamlessly with Laura and Cora seems to have taken to Boyd well.

Stiles is at the clinic at one in the morning, practicing magic he shouldn’t be. It’s been a slippery slope for him- one book and then another, all unfolding under his fingers. Not that he hasn’t been careful; he’s never practiced anywhere but the clinic, where he knows the wards will shield him. He’s in the middle of drawing a circle when his phone rings, almost shoving his heart out of his mouth.

“Hello?”

“ _Stiles. It’s Caius. Is Deaton still gone?_ ”

He’s not about to ask how the man has his number. Stiles leans against the counter, biting his lip.

“Yes. Is something wrong?”

“… _Jackson is having trouble. We don’t want to force him to shift back, but he’s struggling. We think there might be lasting damage if he doesn’t shift back soon._ ”

It’s more information than he expected. It’s also serious. Very serious. He knows the consequences of being shifted too long- bloodlust, for one. Loss of humanity. So many things. He remembers a call from Lydia- her venting about not being able to see Jackson, worrying about how he was doing. _She was right to worry,_ he thinks. His mind races as he tries to come up with an answer.

“It’s not ideal to force a shift with ash or wolfsbane,” Stiles says, gathering his things. “Keep him in his cell. I’m going to contact Deaton, but I’m on my way. I may be able to help.”

“ _All right. Thank you._ ”

Stiles feels his heart hammering in his chest. _Can I really, though?_ He dials Deaton as he starts to drive, hoping the man picks up. He gets an answer after four agonizing rings.

“ _Stiles?_ ”

“Jackson isn’t shifting back. The Hales want help- they don’t want to force it.”

“ _They won’t have a choice,_ ” Deaton says firmly, “ _You know there’s no way to-,_ ”

“That’s a lie, though,” Stiles says, wincing apologetically. “We both know-,”

“ _No, we both didn’t know. We’ll talk about your access to my library later,_ ” Deaton says. “ _Stiles, that takes practice. Experience. You can’t-,_ ”

“I can try. What’s the worst that happens? I pass out and they use the last resort.”

“ _If you hold on too long, you could hurt yourself. Permanently._ ”

“I won’t.”

The line is quiet. Stiles can see the turnoff looming, a barely-visible driveway in the distance. He can only imagine what Jackson is dealing with. What the other wolves are dealing with, knowing that one of theirs cannot change. He isn’t about to back down from trying without a fight. Deaton seems to know, too.

“ _If you do this, you have to do it slowly. Carefully. No one else will know how to help you._ _It’s not something you can teach._ ”

“Yeah. I just have to try,” Stiles says before hanging up.

Peter is the one who greets him. The man is serious despite his sparkling eyes and smirk. There’s a tension in his body as he guides Stiles to the basement, where the rest are waiting.

“What have you tried?” Stiles asks.

“Our methods, I’m sure you know, have to do with anchoring,” Caius explains.

“Right,” Stiles murmurs, already thinking. _But Jackson was adopted. He hasn’t had something to anchor him in a long time…_

“What’s your plan?” Talia asks.

“I’m sure you know that in legends, Druids originally became associated with werewolves because they were able to create the shift.”

“Yes,” she says, the smallest hint of impatience in her voice. It quickly evaporates as realization crosses her features. “Is that what you are?”

“I thought he was an Emissary,” Malia says, raising an eyebrow.

“Emissary just means diplomat,” Stiles says, waving a hand. “There are specialties within it. Like you have Alpha, Beta, and Omega wolves.”

“So, Druid is your specialty,” Talia nods.

 _Well, kind of,_ he thinks, deciding not to correct her. Now is not the time for his little pseudo-secret. Especially since even Deaton isn’t sure what Stiles is.

“Before I start,” Stiles says carefully, “I’m sure you know it’s not that simple. I’ll try, but there’s no guarantee it will work. I’m not as practiced as Deaton.”

“I don’t like this,” Derek says. It’s so sudden that Stiles realizes he hadn’t noticed him. “Why don’t we just use ash? Or-,”

“You know why,” Caius says quietly. His words are heavy with meaning. “We are not guiding his first change with pain or force.”

The argument seems to die there. Scott doesn’t look happy and the Hales are clearly uncomfortable, but there’s no other way. Jackson is curled in a corner cell, eyes flashing like mirrors, and Stiles knows that he’s the only one who can help. _I have to._ He waits while Talia unlocks the door and then he slips in, careful.

Jackson growls. Stiles tries to ignore the threat, instead concentrating on what he’s supposed to do. _Change. Focus on change._ He has no idea how to start it and the only thing that comes to mind is touch. Words have never been able to change Jackson much. Stiles inches forward, concentrating, a hand outstretched carefully. The growling is still there. _I’d like to stay whole,_ he thinks to himself absentmindedly. He makes it another foot, fingers just hitting Jackson’s forehead, and then there’s a roar and he’s being held against the wall, shoulders twinging. Someone moves outside the cell.

“Don’t,” Stiles manages quickly, his free hand turning to the door. There’s whining and hesitation.

He tunes the world out, thinking only about the feeling of his palm spread over Jackson’s forehead. Only the feeling of warmth and skin. Only the reminder that Lydia is waiting- that the Pack is there, supporting. He breathes in and out, matching Jackson, and the pain starts to bleed away. The force pushing him to the wall ebbs, receding as Stiles repeats a mantra in his mind. _Come back. Come back. Come back…_

He feels a little like he’s squinting in the sunlight, gold invading his sight. Jackson slips back into his body and Stiles falls to the floor, released. He feels the break when his hand leaves, the warmth suddenly gone just like the strange connection he felt. The door swings open, voices murmuring, but suddenly he’s too tired to concentrate.

 _Sleep,_ he thinks, and before he can do anything he’s drifting away, the floor coming up to meet him as his eyes close. His last feeling is hope. Hope that he helped, even a little. Just once.

* * *

When he wakes up, he feels like a train ran him over.

He’s also acutely aware of a warm body slumped at the edge of his bed, an arm close to his hand and radiating heat. _Jackson._ It’s bizarre to see Jackson so close, not sneering or making snide comments about Stiles or Scott or anyone else. He’s dead asleep, thankfully. Stiles isn’t sure he knows what to say. At least this way, he’ll have time.

“How are you feeling?”

It’s Laura. He’s surprised. She’s technically the next in line, which makes her pretty high up the chain of command. He’d expected Peter to be at his side- maybe even Derek. Not Laura.

“…the polite thing to say is that I’ll be fine,” Stiles mutters, unable to keep his tongue in check. Laura smiles, arms crossed as she leans back in her chair. She looks like a happier version of Derek, he thinks. The same dark hair and forest eyes, the same strong jaw, the same expressions. Except he can see her dimples when she grins. _Does Derek have dimples?_

“You know, we haven’t seen much of you, but I think you’ll be just fine.”

“I certainly hope so. I’m not going to make a habit out of this if it puts me to sleep for…how long was I out?”

“Just four hours,” Laura smiles, combing her hair back from her face. “It’s five thirty.”

“I’m sorry I kept you awake.” He means it. Five in the morning is not a time anyone should be awake.

“I don’t mind. Anyway, you helped Jackson. That was a good thing you did.”

“I’m not even sure how I did it.”

“Deaton will probably be able to tell you.”

“…so, everyone else is fine, then? The other four?” He tries not to sound anxious. He can vaguely remember Scott’s whine, when he was being held against the wall by Jackson.

“They wanted to stay up with you. Mom had to put her foot down- bad idea for new wolves. They’re all tired anyway. They have three more days with us until they’re cleared.”

He smiles a little. He can imagine Scott trying to get into the room. He’s a little surprised about the others, though. _Maybe helping a Pack member did something._ He turns his head, still tired, and inhales the smell of something woodsy from the pillow beneath his head. It’s a deep green, almost black. It makes him smile.

“…whose room is this?”

“Derek’s, actually,” Laura murmurs, looking towards the door. Stiles is glad for her distraction; he practically sputters, feeling heat rise in his face. _Calm down. Stop it._ “He said he needed to go run. I didn’t expect him to give up his room like that. It’s sacred for him- more than with the rest of us.”

“I’ll have to thank him.”

Laura hums, gaze returning to him. He can see the questions floating in her eyes. _Why this kid?_ Stiles is asking the same ones.

Not that he hadn’t noticed how off-kilter Derek was on their first meeting. They’d both felt something, he thinks. Some confusing attraction. He realizes, with mild horror, that it was probably even more confusing for Derek. _He’s been through the worst of what an age gap can bring. Is that why he’s so weird around me?_

“Sleep,” Laura sighs, rising and stretching. “You can stay as long as you need. I’ll give you some space- I don’t think he’s shifting any time soon.”

“Thanks, Laura.”

He falls asleep again almost immediately after she leaves.

* * *

“Are you sure we shouldn’t check on them?”

“Derek, we would have heard if anything happened,” Cora says, rolling her eyes. “Let him sleep.”

“But-,”

“Do you really want to see him that badly?” Malia asks. Blunt as usual. Derek tries to squash the flush he feels, brushing over the question as if it doesn’t mean anything.

“I just think what he did was dangerous. And Jackson only shifted for the first time last night, _with_ help. We don’t know what he’ll be like when he wakes up.”

His question is answered when Jackson makes his way down the stairs, looking drawn but relaxed. Like he’s been through a bad flu. The others go to him- Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd- comforting and reassuring. It’s good to see. It’s what he needs, Derek knows. What any Pack member needs after a difficult time.

“How is it?” Caius asks. Talia is lingering at the edge. This is not a time for her Alpha status. Especially not with a younger wolf who might feel guilty. “Any more comfortable?”

“…yeah. Yes. A lot,” Jackson corrects. He doesn’t maintain eye contact. “I’m-,”

“Better,” Caius says smoothly, cutting off the apology before it can finish. “That’s what’s important.”

Derek thinks maybe, with the new wolves, he’s getting to see different sides to his family. His Pack. The confidence of blood isn’t there with the teenagers; instead, there’s a tentative thread. They add to it each time they train or talk, building trust and strength. Starting from scratch. It’s not something he’s used to.

The Pack have breakfast together. Derek doesn’t miss the way the others all touch Jackson, reassuring and brief, a bump of shoulders or the brush of fingers when passing plates. The reinforcement seems to help him open up, if only a little. The conversation is easy and casual, nothing as important as putting him at ease.

Derek is just serving pancakes on a plate when he hears creaking. His heart jumps a fraction and he struggles not to turn. _I give up._

Stiles almost makes him choke on air. The teenager lingers in the doorway, hair messy and eyes half-blurred with sleep. His cheeks are vaguely flushed and he’s sniffing in the cold morning air. He is also wearing one of Derek’s old basketball sweaters.

Which.

He’s pretty sure it’s Laura’s doing and he kind of loves and hates her for it.

“Morning,” Talia says, breaking the moment of silence. She extends a hand. Stiles walks up to her, careful but curious. The moment she pulls him into a brief hug, Derek knows where they stand.

He’s a lot like his mother and he knows just what it means for her to show that kind of softness, especially to someone who isn’t Pack.

“Is it?” Stiles jokes. Derek can sense something emanating from him- pain, almost- and he wonders about it. It makes him uneasy. Unhappy. _What is he carrying?_

“Have some breakfast, at least,” Caius smiles. “There’s plenty.”

Stiles turns to the counter and Derek, without even realizing he’s made the choice, extends his hand and his plate to him. Among the low chatter behind him, he can hear Cora’s low murmur. Stiles stares at the offered food for a second, blinking, and then carefully takes the plate. Derek can feel his fingers brush against his hand for the briefest moment, the touch sparking like static. He tries not to stare.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, smiling crookedly before turning to sit near Scott.

_What am I doing?_

* * *

Scott and Allison hit a rough patch around the same time as the full moon. It’s just his luck.

Stiles is in the middle of bullshitting a paper in his room, fingers flying across his keyboard, when his phone rings. His first instinct is to ignore it- his phone almost never rings and calls are usually telemarketers. Still, something tugs at him and he reaches blindly for it, answering with a distracted hand.

“Hello?”

“ _Stiles- I can’t-,_ ”

“Where are you?” He practically slams his laptop shut, shoving it into his backpack. A thousand scenarios run through his mind- Scott wolfing out on the lacrosse field, Scott changing in the middle of a drive-through, Scott accidentally revealing the entire underside of Beacon Hills.

“ _Home. I just...earlier, when I was talking to Allison-,_ ”

“Okay, stop. That’s enough,” Stiles says shortly. He knows Scott and he knows better than most when tough love is what he needs. “This isn’t about Allison. You need to get yourself under control. I’m on my way. Don’t. Leave. Your. Room,” Stiles emphasizes.

He gets to Scott’s house within five minutes, glad Beacon Hills is small. He barely locks his car and grabs his backpack before knocking hurriedly at the door. No one answers. _His mom isn’t home,_ he thinks. _Good._ He uses his key quickly, locking the door behind him for what little comfort it offers. He’s running to Scott’s room before he can think twice.

“Shit.”

“I need to talk to her-,” Scott starts, eyes winking colorfully. His fangs are out. He looks one thousand percent _not_ human.

“You need to not,” Stiles says, closing and locking the bedroom door. “God- Scott, focus. What, you think Chris will let you within three yards of the house like this? You’re not thinking straight.”

“I have to talk to her,” Scott repeats, “You don’t know- she’s having trouble. Accepting this. Me. I just need to show her I can-,”

“What? Control it? You’re not, right now,” Stiles huffs, throwing his backpack on the bed. It thumps and he quickly opens it, pulling out a chain. Scott blinks, staring.

“What’s-,”

“Sit,” Stiles directs. Scott frowns but follows his direction, sitting by his window. _At least he’s obedient. That must be nice, for the Hales._ It takes him two seconds to chain Scott to the radiator, stepping back to admire his work. “Don’t move.”

“Stiles- I don’t need to be-,” Scott starts, incredulous, but Stiles ignores him.

“Look, kids in love do dumb shit. Not that I have any doubts about you and Allison- I mean, shit, Scott, you two are going to last longer than cockroaches. But you need to focus on your…wolfing. How are you going to prove to her you haven’t changed if you’re ready to run off at the first full moon?”

Scott looks suitably peeved for about five seconds before he is petulant again.

“I don’t need this much.”

“Yeah, well, I’m human. Forgive me,” Stiles snorts, shaking out a thin line of ash. “It’s for me, not for you.”

He spends most of the night doing homework. After a few hours, though, once Scott has settled and calmed down, he starts talking.

“Thanks for coming,” Scott says, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“Dude, don’t worry about it. You know you can trust me.”

“Yeah. I just…I know you’ve got your own stuff to worry about.”

“It’s okay. If I’m ever going to be an Emissary, it’ll be my job to help, remember?”

“…you’re going to be a great Emissary,” Scott says, smile crooked. Stiles grins back.

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

* * *

He starts training regularly with Allison two days after Scott’s full moon episode. It was Stiles’ idea, really, run past Deaton once he figured out how to word his question. _If I’m able to use magic, that’s great- but shouldn’t I also know basic self-defense? And we’re supposed to work with both Hunters and wolves._ It had been a shockingly easy sell, which tells Stiles that Deaton was probably already planning it.

His first day is…awkward. He shows up at the Argent house, nervously drumming his fingers on his steering wheel before exiting his car. Deaton is already waiting, chatting with Chris about something or the other.

“Stiles,” Chris acknowledges.

“Hi,” Stiles says, not sure how to address him. _Mr. Argent? That sounds weird. I can’t use his name- I can’t call him-_

“Allison is waiting in the back,” the man says, interrupting his train of thought. He seems much less awkward than Stiles feels. “She’ll let you know what the training will be.”

“Thanks.”

He feels relieved to get away. Chris is a nice man, of course, but Stiles has no idea how to navigate this world. It’s easy in theory, reading about Emissaries and their jobs, but it’s harder when the entire supernatural world consists of school friends and close-knit families.

“Hi,” Allison says when he steps into the backyard. She smiles widely- maybe a little too widely. _She’s nervous,_ he realizes. It makes him feel better.

“I gotta say, I’m kind of glad it’s you,” Stiles says in a rush, “I think your dad would wipe the walls with my ass. At least you’ll be nice about it.”

Allison laughs brightly and he finds he likes the sound. _I know why Scott likes her._ Why everyone does, really. She’s beautiful and fierce and so very sweet. She’s exactly who he wants to be learning from, especially since she’s been training her entire life.

“Well, you may not think that after you see our schedule.”

It’s strict, he finds, but no more than he’d expected. Regular runs, scheduled sparring, sessions for weapons training. Allison tells him he can choose a specialty or try his hand at several things. They figure out when they’ll have time to meet up- he’s busy with lacrosse and Deaton and she has a life outside of being a Hunter- and by the end of the first thirty minutes, Stiles is feeling more comfortable and confident than before.

That’s as long as the feeling lasts. Allison immediately puts him through a run and then they start sparring, one hit turning into a dozen and Stiles learning quickly how to fall without hurting himself. By the time they wrap up, he knows his body will be a canvas of bruises.

But he’s feeling good. Useful. Like he’s taking a step in the right direction.

“Good day,” Allison says, barely breathless when they finish. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Tomorrow,” Stiles agrees, knowing he’ll be in pain but determined to break through it.

He’s not going to go the route of the bite. Without it, he knows he’ll have to work twice as hard to keep up with the supernatural in Beacon Hills. But he’s willing to try.

* * *

A month after the ceremony, Derek starts to realize he’s looking for excuses to see Stiles. Most times, he’s unsuccessful- going to the clinic is only fruitful a quarter of the time. He manages to tease from Deaton something about Stiles training, which is vague and mysterious enough for Derek to wonder about it. He keeps hoping he’ll see Stiles, though, so he keeps going around.

And then, right when summer starts, Stiles comes to him.

Or, technically, the Pack. But it’s all the same.

“Stiles,” Caius says, welcoming. Scott is there, too, bouncing on his heels with energy.

“Where do you want me to start?”

“Start what?” Derek asks without thinking, curious. His father’s smirk makes him warm. He feels like he’s transparent.

“Why don’t you join him? It’ll be a learning moment,” Caius says. “The back is fine, Stiles.”

He doesn’t say _a learning moment for you,_ but it’s implied. Stiles seems to be biting back a laugh. Derek almost doesn’t follow him to the backyard but he’s weak. _Who am I kidding? Of course I’m going to follow._

“What are you doing?”

“Strengthening the wards,” Stiles smiles, passing Derek his backpack. He doesn’t even think twice about it and Derek doesn’t think twice about holding it. “Usually Deaton does it, but it’s simple enough for me to do.”

“Really? Is it a good idea-,”

“I said it was simple,” Stiles says, sounding vaguely aggravated as he takes back his bag. Derek feels vaguely guilty about the response. _Deaton wouldn’t train him if he wasn’t sure about his capabilities. Besides, Stiles helped Jackson change back. He has to be strong._

“I’ve never seen it done before,” Derek submits, hoping to smooth things back over. Stiles glances over his shoulders, gold eyes a little less steely.

“Hm. Well, don’t get too close. I’ll need space. And don’t interrupt, either.”

Derek bites his tongue. He stands back, curious but wary. Stiles dumps a few things out of his backpack- bottles and satchels and other assorted items. It’s strange to see them fall from a high school kid’s backpack. Stiles seems to know exactly what to do, too, mumbling under his breath as he opens different things and starts tracing a shape on the ground. It isn’t until Derek actually pays attention that he realizes the words aren’t a language he recognizes.

He can feel it, when Stiles starts his wards. It’s like a low hum- the sound that lingers in the room after turning off a television. A static that seems both like a noise and the sudden absence of noise. Derek can see some of the Betas- as they’ve been affectionately termed- starting to gather on the porch, watching curiously. He doesn’t think Stiles notices his gathering audience.

Stiles stands, still speaking under his breath, hands moving in practiced and fluid motions. It’s almost like watching a dance, circles and shapes coming to life as Stiles speaks over the circle of assorted powders and oils he’s traced onto the ground. It takes maybe five minutes for him to finish before he turns, completely nonplussed and casual, reaching for his backpack.

Well, he’s casual until he sees his audience. Then, he starts to splutter. And blush.

“…aren’t you all supposed to be sparring?” Derek calls, rolling his eyes. Not that he’s secretly pleased by Stiles’ blush. Not at all.

“What are you doing?” Erica asks, ignoring Derek. She has a habit of doing that, out of all the Betas. Derek can tell it’s going to cause friction in the future.

“Wards,” Stiles says, waving a hand vaguely. “Just stuff to protect the land. Help warn us of intruders.”

“What language was that?” Boyd asks. It’s one of the only times Derek has heard him speak. He’s usually quiet, keeping to himself. Derek can sense something, though- a kinship. Like he’s willing to open up to Stiles more. Derek can’t blame him.

“Well, it’s kind of-,” Stiles starts, excited and grinning, and then he abruptly stops. His eyes glaze, a sheen lowering, and his mouth is still half-open as he turns towards the woods.

“What is it?” Derek asks, immediately noticing the shift. He can sense it.

“…something’s coming,” Stiles says shortly, springing into action. He practically sprints through the house, making it to his car in record time. Derek can see his family gathering on the front porch, appearing suddenly, apprehension clear on their faces.

“Stiles. What is it?” Talia asks, voice rising from where she stands by the door.

Derek notices a few things- Stiles throws his backpack into the car, slamming the door shut. Instead of leaving, though, he’s reaching into the backseat and pulling something out that flickers silver in his hand.

“Rovers,” Stiles smirks. The joke doesn’t get by Derek- he almost can’t believe Stiles is making it, in the middle of a potential ambush. Almost. “They don’t have a Pack, but there’s a lot of them. Ten at least.”

“Caius, Boyd, Isaac, Cora and Laura stay here,” Talia says immediately, already shrugging her jacket off and handing it to her husband. “Derek, Jackson, Malia, Peter, Scott- you’re with me.”

It’s only after they start moving that Derek realizes Stiles is following Talia.

“Stay here,” Derek says quickly, but Stiles ignores him and addresses his mother.

“There could be a chance they’ll understand how serious it is if I go. I know I’m not _the_ Emissary, but-,”

“I know,” Talia says quickly, cutting him off with a vaguely apologetic expression, “but it’s not likely they’ll care. If anything happens, I’d rather you be here to reinforce the wards if needed.”

“…understood,” Stiles says, the word clipped. Derek recognizes his agreement for what it is. _He doesn’t have to follow her direction; he’s technically a free agent._ The fact that Stiles respects Talia’s decision, though, means something.

He just doesn’t have time to think about it.

Derek follows half of the Pack, trying not to look over his shoulder as he goes. _I hope they stay safe,_ he thinks, determined. _We can’t let the fight get back to the house. Not with Stiles there._

* * *

He knows within ten minutes what’s going to happen.

“They’re moving back here,” Stiles says quickly, rising from the ground. His palm is warm from touching the circle he’d made on the ground.

Feeling through the wards is something he’ll never get used to. It’s like putting his hands onto a spiderweb, trying to filter out what direction something is coming from and how big of a threat it is. He can sense it now, the disturbance scattered- he can tell they’re all running; the Hales chasing down the intruders and trying to cut them off. _Why are they so set on coming this way, though? What are they after?_

“Stay in the house,” Caius says, descending the stairs. “The rest of you know your positions.”

“I can’t stay inside,” Stiles says quickly, “I’ll need to be outside to use the protections. And I think I need to call the Argents.”

“…do what you need to,” Caius nods sharply, striding out the front door. Stiles can see the moment the man recognizes what Stiles is insinuating.

“ _Stiles? What’s-,_ ”

“Are you at home?”

“ _Yes. What’s happening?_ ” he can hear Allison moving, probably arming herself.

“Wayward wolves. I’m not sure how many; half the Pack left to deal with them, but they’re moving closer to the house. I’m not sure what they’re after, but it’s not just a fight. Tell your father and have him call Deaton.”

“ _Backup?_ ”

“Not yet,” Stiles says, feeling the cold metal in his fist. “I doubt they’ll be able to get past the entire Pack.”

“ _…okay. Call me if you need it._ ”

“I will. Stay safe.”

Part of him wants to say, _come_. He’d love to fight alongside Allison, both for security and to show her how hard he’s been working at her lessons. He knows better, though; with the entire Pack combined, there’s little chance the intruders will be able to escape. Especially since they’re probably Betas at best.

“They’re coming,” Peter says shortly, breaking Stiles’ concentration. “Stay near me.”

The intruders burst through the trees in a scene that would be extremely cool if it weren’t so terrifying. _Popping up like daisies,_ Stiles thinks absently, shifting his weight. He can see the other half of the Pack close behind. Malia catches one of the dozen werewolves in a sudden leap, hair flying as she snarls and rolls him onto the ground with her momentum. Stiles can practically hear Peter smile beside him.

It’s like watching a movie scene when the wolves collide. Some of the intruders are huge- Stiles doesn’t even know who decided it was a good idea to turn them, if they were turned; he suspects anger management is a common problem with them. He can tell immediately that they are out to kill, regardless of what happens to them; they’re trying to plow through at all costs. They’re possessed.

 _I guess the buck stops here,_ he thinks, watching a wolf lunge at him. _I’m the only one that can force the shift._ He doesn’t want to, though, unless it’s absolutely necessary- so his immediate response, when faced with a snarling mess of a werewolf, is to attack.

He lets the chain unfurl in his hand, the whip hissing in the air as the dagger flies out towards the attacker. The man- or werewolf, rather- snarls at the biting dagger. Stiles moves in the moment it takes the man to compensate, already ducking and pulling at the chain. He can see the dummy in Allison’s backyard. The way she had made him repeat his movements, over and over again, always reminding him to keep his footing and roll with the momentum. He does the same thing now, tumbling over the earth, inhaling the greenness as he yanks at the chain. Only one tug secures it; he can hear the growl dissolve into a whine and then a grunt. The wolfsbane is working. The wolf drops after only a few seconds of struggle, hitting the ground with a heavy _thump._

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his ears. He knows the adrenaline will stay high only as long as he can keep his energy up. A quick glance tells him the others have things well in hand. He’s still itching to move, though, and as he watches, Derek is thrown back by one of the smaller men.

 _How lucky,_ Stiles thinks, trying not to smile. _I get to save the pretty one._

He runs. The man sees him, raising an arm to tear his head off. Derek shouts something- Stiles doesn’t know what- and some of the others notice what he’s doing. Stiles can sense an undercurrent of fear, even without Pack bonds. He ignores it, concentrating. _It’s not a move I’ve ever done before, but it’ll look real damn cool…_

He hits the ground at the last second, sliding like he’s going for a home run. He misses the claws swiping where his head just was. As he slides, he palms the dagger end of his chain whip, gritting his teeth as he digs in and cuts through the back of the man’s heels. He hates the feeling of ripping through tendons but he knows it’s necessary to drop a werewolf that’s larger than him.

The second he passes the man, a roar of pain echoing in his ears, he flips over and digs his fingers into the ground, heels kicking up dirt as he stops himself. His hand moves quickly, the chain whip darting out to curl around the werewolf’s neck. _Just hit and pull,_ he recites, _and don’t ever let go._ He has to pull the chain over his shoulder, feeling it bite his hands and press into his skin. The werewolf eventually falls, though, out of breath and time.

Stiles stands slowly, still keyed up on adrenaline. It takes him a few seconds to realize that the intruders have all been rounded up by the Pack, figures lying prone on the ground. It also takes him a few seconds to realize Derek is staring.

“…what-,” Derek starts, voice gravelly and low, and he has to cough. “What is that?”

“Chain whip,” Stiles says faintly. “Courtesy of Allison.”

Derek is still staring. Stiles can’t tell what’s in the man’s gaze- hunger, maybe, or some sort of strange desire. He wants to answer it somehow. He’s not blind; he knows Derek is gorgeous and while he can be monosyllabic and blunt, he’s always been good with Pack. _I wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better…_

“Stiles! Bro!” Scott breaks the tension, unknowing, practically bounding up to them. “That was awesome! I didn’t even- I mean, that was _awesome_! You looked like a badass!”

“Well, I had to step it up,” Stiles jokes, still feeling a little regretful over whatever… _thing_ isn’t happening between him and Derek. “I’m surrounded by naturally gifted werewolves.”

“I’d say Allison’s training worked,” Talia says, her smile a little respectful. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that respect. _I’m just a teenager. I’m not ready to deal with an Alpha._ “Maybe we should ask her to help us, too.”

“She is a great trainer,” Stiles agrees, not pointing out that there’s no chance she’ll train werewolves. _She can barely handle me and she knows the wolves don’t need any more of an advantage than they already have._

“I’m glad you were here to help,” Talia continues, contemplative. It looks like she’s considering something, but he doesn’t know what. “We appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, “I will always help.”

It’s more than he should say, considering he’s supposed to be training to be a neutral party, but he feels like that ship sailed a while back. _If anything, I’m becoming closer to the Pack than I am Deaton._ It worries him a little but he brushes it away, reasoning that he goes to school with one-third of the Pack. It makes sense that he’s close to them.

 _I’ll have time to be a diplomat later,_ he thinks. _For now, I just want to help._

* * *

Stiles’ birthday is…complicated.

He’s never really needed birthday parties; he’s never had much use for them when his best and only friend was always Scott. Most years, he had eaten pizza and watched movies- although somehow, he always managed to miss _Star Wars_.

The past year, however, he had been adopted by the Betas of Beacon Hills. After the fiasco at the Hale house, he’d earned some strange amount of respect; it should annoy him, being taken seriously only when he’d proven physical strength, but he understands. Either way, the Betas have taken to looking after him in their odd ways at school and outside of it. His summer had been spent training and working around the Betas, who had insisted on keeping an eye on him at all times after the attack.

He’d seen a lot of Derek during the summer, too. They’ve reached the point where Stiles openly needles him, sarcasm and jokes taken in stride. While Derek might feign annoyance, and threaten to throw Stiles into the river, he always says things with the sparkle in his eye that’s the equivalent of a smile. So, maybe they’re not making eyes at each other over a milkshake, but Stiles considers it progress.

“There’s something you need to look at,” Erica says, balancing a stack of books in her arms.

“What is it?” Stiles is pushing things into his locker- he’s ahead on homework, miraculously, and he’s not about to take anything home on his birthday. Even if it’s a Thursday.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be bringing you to look,” she says, raising a perfect eyebrow. Her tone isn’t as unkind as her words. He still remembers the summer day she confessed to having liked him, before she apparently thought better of it. He still can’t believe it.

“Point taken,” Stiles says. “Where?”

“Just by the house. Not too far out. Meet- meet me there around six?”

He notices her stumble. It’s the first thing that makes him suspicious. Like she was about to say something and changed her mind mid-sentence. It could be anything, though, so he brushes it off. _Six o’clock_. He doesn’t really have any plans- it’s a Thursday and Scott is suffering in English, so they’ve put off celebrating until Friday.

“Sure. What should I bring?”

“…I don’t know,” Erica says, smirking. “I’m not the Druid.”

She’s still grinning as she walks away. He tries not to call after her, aware that the school is still filled with students. _Whatever_. He knows better than to correct her. It’s not like anyone but Deaton knows he’s a Spark and he’s supposed to keep it that way as long as possible. _However long that is._ With Beacon Hills, he suspects it won’t be long.

* * *

The second that he pulls up to the house, he knows what’s happening. He’d suspected it, of course, but had decided that the Hales were too proper to do anything like throw a party for a kid who also happens to be a training Druid and Emissary.

Apparently, he’d been wrong.

He’s greeted with a chorus of _Happy Birthday_ from the porch. Scott is grinning like a fool. Cora is trying to look disinterested, but he can tell she’s excited. It’s not often that the Pack gets together for anything informal, he knows. Especially a party.

“Wow. I feel so important,” Stiles jokes, walking up to the porch. Scott, of course, hugs him without pause.

He’s a little more surprised when Erica and Laura hug him, too. Even Caius’ hand lingers a second longer on his shoulder. _Is this because of the attack?_ He’s not sure where he stands at the moment- diplomatically, he’s not part of the Hale Pack, so they shouldn’t be this friendly. Aside from that, though, he’s been around them for over a year, now. It would be strange not to feel close to them. _Wolves,_ he thinks, _and their strange rules and bonds._

“I hope you’re hungry,” Talia says. She looks softer than usual, the Alpha gaze he’s used to gone and replaced by something kinder. _She looks like a mother,_ he realizes. _Just a mother._

They all look like a normal family. It strikes him that maybe this is exactly what it is- a group of werewolves trying to do something for the human they know. Taking a break from the training and fighting and threats. Reclaiming the humanity they all have in the simplest and kindest way possible.

Maybe it’s a birthday party for them, too.

“Starving,” Stiles says, smiling, and he can tell from Talia’s smile that she knows that he knows- and she’s grateful.

There is just as much food as can be expected at a werewolf party. Stiles spends half his time trying to balance an overfilled plate and the other half chatting with his friends. His father calls at some point and Stiles explains what he’s doing and not to wait up, promising a birthday dinner of unhealthy food the next night. It feels nice, being surrounded by people- but it’s still an overload. However much he’s grown used to being around the Pack, to have them surround him on his birthday is another matter altogether. _I’ve never had so many people in one place just for me._ It’s an odd feeling, somewhere between pleased and guilty. Above all else, though, he’s grateful. Even in the low din of the Pack and the constant touching and bumping, he thinks there’s a place for him. A small space where he fits, as human as he is around everyone else.

He’s sent home laughing, the Pack waving him off. The Betas are loading into their cars, too- schoolwork won’t wait forever- and in the chaos of their departure, Derek happens to walk up to Stiles.

“Happy Birthday. Um. I know we said that-,”

“Thanks,” Stiles says quickly, saving Derek from himself. It’s becoming a habit.

“I…I hope you liked it.”

“Did _you_ plan this?” He feels like he’s staring, mouth open, but he can’t help it. He’s used to Derek growling and staring from the edges; the man is a reluctant person, like a kid that always watches but desperately wants to be in the middle of things. For Derek to have planned something…especially Stiles’ birthday…well.

“I- Scott mentioned it and I suggested offhand…I mean, I hope it wasn’t-,”

“Derek,” Stiles says, because he has no idea what to say. He has no idea so he just pulls the man into a hug, trying not to think too much about the way Derek’s body his warm. The way his muscles are firm beneath his shirt. The way he smells like a forest.

Stiles pulls away after a moment, hoping he hasn’t crossed any boundaries, and he almost falls to the ground when he sees Derek’s face. The man is staring at him like he’s drunk, swaying a little closer, and Stiles can taste it on his tongue like electricity. They’re so close- and then Derek snaps away, swallowing hard, glancing back toward the house.

“Drive safely,” Derek says, nodding shortly.

Stiles leaves feeling cheated and frustrated, wondering what the problem is. He’s driving down the empty road when something hits him, the jolt spinning the world, and all he can think of is, _I really tried to drive safely, Derek,_ before the world goes completely black.

* * *

Stiles wakes in in a dimly lit space. It’s the size of a broom closet and completely concrete, hard under his knees. He can feel cold metal around his wrists, holding them together behind his back. When he looks, he can see a loop in the wall where the cuffs are threaded through.

_What the hell is going on?_

The first thing that kicks in is his father’s relentless training. It had started before Stiles had become a trainee Emissary and it had only increased after. _Check for exits or openings,_ Stiles recites. The only thing in the room that counts is the door, which looks like it’s some sort of heavy metal. There is no handle, he notices, which means it’s either automated or it has to be kept open when someone comes into the room. It’s an opportunity. _Check for injuries._ He can feel a dull throb on his forehead, which he suspects is from hitting the steering wheel. His chest feels fine, which is good, but his knees are sore, indicating he’s been in the room for some time. _Check for tools,_ he thinks, trying to maneuver himself sideways to feel if there’s anything in his pockets. He doesn’t get a chance to finish before the door swings open, silent and swift.

“Ah. Good. You’re awake.”

_What the fu-_

“Bring him.”

Stiles is still trying to get a grip on the situation when two men drag him upright. The speaker- the person who is presumably at fault- is Gerard Argent.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, trying for innocence. He knows there’s a chance he can plead ignorance, so long as he’s the only one taken. The men uncuff him, moving his hands in front of his body, and lock the steel around his writs again.

 _What the hell does he want?_ Stiles can’t come up with anything- he can barely wonder whether Chris and Allison know. He’s sure they don’t; they’ve been nothing but cooperative and respectful. Besides which, Gerard isn’t even supposed to be in town. He has, to Stiles’ knowledge, been away from Beacon Hills since his daughter’s death.

The hallway Stiles is pulled down is just as smooth and concrete as his room. It feels cool- underground, he thinks. He wonders if they’re under a bank or some other kind of building. He can’t imagine they’re near the town; he doubts Gerard would risk it.

A door opens and Stiles is shoved down a set of stairs, his restrained hands barely able to help when he falls. His palms are scratched when he falls, bloodied and probably starting to bruise. It’s then that he hears noise- muffled shouts and whining- and he looks up, horrified. Boyd and Erica are restrained, some sort of wire circling their suspended wrists, and they are both staring at him with mouths taped shut.

“What are you-,”

Gerard hits him- a steel pipe, Stiles thinks, and pain radiates from his side. _One inch higher and he could have broken a rib._ Something tells him that, horrifyingly, the old man isn’t pulling any of his punches. Stiles breathes heavily, leaning against the wall for support.

“You know, I always did enjoy the feel of steel. Silver is wonderful- but steel. There’s something very…cleansing about it.”

_Well, no doubts, now. He’s crazy._

“Is there a reason you abducted three teenagers, or did you just have a bad day?” Stiles asks. His mouth is on autopilot; at this point, he doesn’t know what the man wants or how he can be strategic about bartering. He has nothing to work with, so he has to get something. Anything.

Gerard hits him again, this time behind the knee, and Stiles bites down a noise of pain as he stumbles to his knees. He can hear the other two struggling and he tries to look up at them, pleading. _Don’t make him hurt you._ _I need to figure this out._

“You have quite a mouth. What is it about children these days? You all think you know better.”

Gerard’s laugh makes Stiles’ skin crawl. He kind of to take the pipe from the man and hit him with it. Instead, he tries to gauge whether being polite will help.

“I’m sorry- I’m just feeling a little confused, here. Why do you have us locked up in a basement?”

“That’s not going to work,” Gerard says easily, waving the pipe in casual gesture that feels more threatening than anything else. “I know your father knows. Tenacious thing like you- there’s no way you don’t. Besides, you were there tonight.”

“There? What- you mean my birthday party? Is that what this is about?”

He’s rewarded with a hit to his face- not with the pipe, thankfully, but with a fist. One of the men that dragged him upright. Stiles isn’t sure he noticed the command, but he knows Gerard is pulling the strings. _Who knows what’s going on. Those other two could be werewolves, for all I know._ Stiles rolls with the punch but it still burns. He knows his pale skin is going to be multicolored in the morning.

“You know, I’m doing this town a service,” Gerard muses. He doesn’t seem to be talking to Stiles anymore, if he ever was. “It isn’t safe. Not with the likes of you three around.”

 _Three?_ The realization hits Stiles hard. _He thinks I’m one of them._ He can use that fact- he’s not sure how, yet, but he knows he can. Somehow. He tucks the knowledge away in a corner of his mind before he’s dragged back out, sending one last look to Erica and Boyd before the door closes behind him.

_Just wait. I’m going to get us out._

* * *

“How long has he been gone?”

“I’m not sure- at least since ten this morning. And before you ask, no, he wasn’t taken from home.”

“How are you sure?”

“He’s got his ways.”

Derek is reeling. He feels like the earth has tilted off its axis- nothing is right. The sheriff had appeared at six in the evening, setting the entire pack on edge, and when he’d told Talia _we need to talk_ , Derek had known something was horribly wrong. He’d suspected there might have been an attack- something the human element of the Accord would have to cover- but once Noah had started talking, Derek had realized just how much worse it was.

Stiles is missing.

“We should still check the area. Laura, take Scott and Malia,” Talia says, nodding sharply. The three leave quickly, the front door shutting heavily behind them. Derek itches to follow.

“Deaton’s on his way,” the sheriff says, arms crossed. He looks drawn- as if he had known this would happen. As if he hates that he was right.

“He’s here,” Peter corrects, moving towards the door.

Derek somehow feels better with the Emissary around. Like the man will be able to explain it, point them in the right direction, and they’ll find Stiles in some dark cave, dirty but no worse for wear. Laughing about it all.

He knows the truth is probably not that pretty.

“The attack the other day- you’re sure they weren’t from any pack?” Deaton asks immediately.

“Certain,” Caius answers, jaw tight. “This isn’t wolves, as far as we know. The wards would have warned us and we would have scented them.”

“…there was something wrong with his tires,” the sheriff says slowly, glancing between the others as if he’s not sure whether it’s important. “I barely noticed before I left for work, but it seemed like he’d driven over something. It wasn’t bad enough to give him a flat or stop him from coming home, obviously, but it looked like there was something wrong.”

“Has anyone contacted the Argents yet? They might know something. Or they may be in danger as well,” Deaton points out.

“I’ll call,” Isaac says quickly, stepping away from the kitchen table.

“None of this makes sense,” Derek murmurs. He barely notices he’s spoken until his father looks at him, questioning. “We can’t reach Erica or Boyd and Stiles just happens to be missing?”

“What are you saying? You think they all ran off, or they took him, or-?” the sheriff looks worried and Derek blinks. _He’s worried the new Betas might have done something,_ he realizes.

“No. No- I’m just saying, two of our new Betas are missing. Maybe whoever did this knew what they were doing- maybe they targeted them.”

“Technically, the weakest,” Talia says, her voice hard. Derek can tell the Alpha is furious. “Anyone with any knowledge of hierarchy would know. They may have assumed Stiles was one, too. This might just be an attempt to send a message.”

“What kind of message?” the sheriff asks.

“They think they can take our weakest. They’re showing us that we cannot protect our own,” Peter says smoothly. Despite his words, Derek can tell his uncle is angry. _I haven’t seen him this angry since the fire._ It’s uncharacteristic and it reminds Derek of worse times.

“It’s too bad they’re wrong,” Talia says suddenly. “We’re going to find them.”

“Chris and Allison aren’t answering,” Isaac announces, walking back into the room. “They’re going straight to voicemail.”

“Then we need to go,” Talia says, shifting on her feet. “Caius, Cora, stay here. Laura and the others will join you as soon as they’re done. We need to make sure this isn’t a diversion. Derek, Jackson, Peter, you’re with me. If the Argents are in trouble, they might lead us to the others.”

Derek reaches for his jacket, heart pounding with some strange worry, and starts to follow the others out the door. He barely catches his mother’s eye as they leave- she sees something, he thinks, but he’s not sure what.

“Take the sheriff with you,” Talia says, her eyes searching his face. “Keep him safe. For Stiles.”

_For Stiles._

* * *

The Argents are home. Talia knocks and Chris answers, nothing in his expression betraying knowledge of what’s happening. Derek is surprised- he’d expected some sort of confrontation, or perhaps even a hostage situation. Not this. Not Chris Argent in jeans and a blue shirt, looking for all the world as if he’s a normal father who has just been making dinner.

“What’s happening?” Chris steps aside immediately, which Derek thinks is a mark of how much he trusts them. Although it could also be because Deaton and the sheriff are there.

“You haven’t been answering. Why?” Talia asks, eyes skating around the entryway.

Chris’ eyes narrow. He walks into the kitchen briskly, taking his phone from the counter. Derek looks around- he’s never been to the Argents’ before. It’s nice, he thinks, if a bit too far away from the forest. Everything is immaculate. He wonders if Allison cleans more, or if they share the load. For the first time, Derek wonders how difficult it must be for them. _They’re the only ones left._

“It’s remotely blocked,” the man says, tense. He moves back into the entryway, climbing a few of the stairs there. “Allison!”

“Erica and Boyd are gone,” Talia says as they wait. “And Stiles.”

“What about Stiles?” Allison asks. She’s gripping the banister tightly, eyes sharp.

“Is your phone service working?” Chris asks.

“…blocked,” Allison says, saying the word as if it’s a curse. She bounds down the rest of the stairs, already tying her hair into a ponytail. “What happened? Where is Stiles?”

“We think someone took him- and Erica and Boyd,” Talia says shortly, turning back to Chris. “We were attacked a few days ago by stray wolves. They weren’t pack affiliated and all of them were dealt with. This isn’t one of ours- Laura, Scott, and Malia checked the house. No sign of him being taken.”

“The sheriff noticed something about Stiles’ tires,” Derek adds. “He said it looked like Stiles drove over something.”

Derek can sense the moment the mood shifts. Allison and Chris share a look- fury on her part, disappointment on his. Talia takes notice, too, arms crossed as Allison runs into another room.

“What do we need to know?” Talia asks, firm.

“Gerard was supposed to visit,” Chris says, shaking his head. “I told him he would be better off staying away.”

“Gerard?” Deaton echoes, raising an eyebrow.

 _That bastard,_ Derek thinks, skin prickling. He knows the part Gerard had in Kate’s deception. He’d all but given her the fuel for the fire. _He might have, for all we know._ The thought of Gerard getting his hands on any wolf, much less Erica and Boyd, makes Derek sick.

_And what will he do with Stiles?_

“He doesn’t know Stiles isn’t a werewolf,” Derek realizes, horrified. “If he tries to torture them, he’ll kill him.”

“He’s not getting that chance,” Allison says, reappearing. There’s a bow in her hand and she tucks a dagger into its place at her side. “We need to check the safe houses.”

“If he’s in one of our places, we’ll find him,” Chris says, moving towards his office. “I’ll make sure of it.”

* * *

After two days- although he can’t be sure of the time- he finally reaches out.

There aren’t many ways to contact a wolf long-distance, even if you are a druid. The only methods Stiles knows aren’t very safe and require energy. Luckily, he hasn’t had much to do since being thrown in his tiny room. Maybe Gerard has been busy or maybe he’s been off trying to capture the others; Stiles only hopes Erica and Boyd have been left alone. Stiles’ choice to use the spell might be risky, but he reasons that there’s no better time to try it.

He hisses when he tears at the scratches on his palms, reopening them with a nail. He can’t see what he’s doing but he knows the symbol; he moves his hand behind him, tracing onto the wall with the sticky blood on his finger. _Concentrate._ The words he mutters may as well be gibberish, for all anyone else would understand; to him, they are his only hope. He makes it through the spell, feeling the energy start to leave him in a slow drain- it feels like giving blood. He holds on as long as possible, hoping he won’t have to end it. _I may not get another chance._

The drain stops suddenly, everything hovering at a low hum, and then he gets a clear line. He’s not sure how anything is working- all he knows is that whatever he senses feels like a tree. Or maybe a hand. He can sense the whole is the Hales; their energy pulses in the middle of it all. Each finger- or branch- is like a different person. _Derek,_ Stiles thinks, trying to find the right branch. He can tell almost immediately- one that gives him a brief image of trees, the smell of earth and the taste of cold water. Stiles reaches out, trying to communicate, but he feels a resistance. A push. It hits him immediately and he shrinks back.

Stiles can feel the power of the spell fading. He feels it, so he reaches out again, desperate. _Who else can I try? Who else will hear me?_ A brief thought comes to mind and he feels himself redirect. This time, the branch that he feels is different. Dry, maybe, with the sensation of dirt and something honeyed on the tongue.

_Peter._

He thinks maybe it’s ironic, Peter being the one he finds. It makes sense, though. He lays down a thread as if he’s plucking a thread from his shirt, tying it to the branch. Stiles can already feel an echo- as if the branch was shaken by his touch- and then he’s sucked back into his body, weaker but triumphant.

It’s then that Gerard comes to him for the first time since he was taken.

* * *

They search an entire night. There’s no trace of Gerard in any of the Argent safe houses. Derek grows increasingly frustrated with each passing minute, opening door after door in the forest to find nothing. _Come on. Even if I open it on him again, let him be in this one._ He repeats the prayer after every empty hideaway until they’re done.

“We need a lead,” Chris says, rubbing a hand over his face. Allison, Derek notices, looks cold. As if she’s putting on a mask. Derek wonders just how angry and worried she’s feeling. “I’ll get in touch with my contacts. If they know where he was headed, we might know where to look.”

“The others have looked around the house,” Talia submits. “Caius didn’t find anything. Either he was taken somewhere on the road, or they were hiding their scent.”

“I need to find my son,” the sheriff interrupts. His voice is strained.

 _This is our fault,_ Derek thinks. _We didn’t protect him, and now he’s gone. I should have taken him home. I should have-_

“We’re going to find him,” Deaton says, somehow placid amidst the growing storm. “I can try finding him- it’ll take time, but I might be able to reach out. Stiles might even be shielding himself now- he certainly has enough spells to think of something. He might even have convinced Gerard to let him go, if he told him he’s human.”

“He could talk his way out of a lot,” Peter murmurs.

“We’ll find him,” Chris says, quieter as he talks to the sheriff. “This is meant to scare us. He won’t kill them.”

 _That’s what you say,_ Derek thinks, _but what about Kate?_

They go their separate ways, each with tasks at hand, and Derek feels the lead in his heart grow heavier. All he can remember is Stiles, glaring with gold eyes. Making snide remarks over breakfast. Training with the others, his chain dagger replaced with a non-lethal version, the difference making him no less dangerous. Stiles nudging Derek, smirking at some comment made in passing.

“Stop the car,” Peter says sharply. Derek’s foot hits the pedal before he can ask any questions.

“What?”

The door opens and Peter steps out. Behind them, Talia pulls over, leaving her car and running over. Derek watches as Peter stands in place, turning slowly, some faraway expression in his eyes. He looks almost like he did after the fire, when he’d been recovering alone, locked away from sight as his face healed. They had almost lost him to something worse than fire, then.

“It was here,” Peter says suddenly. “He was here.”

“What do you smell?” Talia asks.

“Surprise. He was driving. Something stopped him. The ones who took him were human- their scent is almost gone. They didn’t cover it, though. There’s something…wrong, about them. A lack of smell. Like being buried.”

“Basement,” Talia mutters. “Concrete, maybe. They actually took him as he left and didn’t bother to cover their tracks. They drove his car home,” she adds, anger simmering in her voice.

“I’ll let the others know,” Peter says distantly, as if he’s still trying to smell something. “They’re sloppy. They’re going to make a mistake.”

“They already have,” Talia says, turning on her heel.

* * *

Gerard doesn’t stay to watch. He usually does the beating when it’s Stiles alone, but when it’s Erica and Boyd, he always leaves. It’s as if he can’t be bothered to stick around for the torture he’s ordering.

The two men go about their business with clinical detachment. Stiles wonders if they’re hired or just so obedient they don’t have personalities. He tries the first few times to feel them out- see if he can entice them to help or incense them enough to make a mistake. It’s like talking to a wall. Eventually, he focuses his energy on something else- talking to Erica and Boyd while they’re suffering.

He hates that he can’t do anything. Erica and Boyd are electrocuted in measured bursts and Stiles, kept in a corner, is hit with clinical precision. Even when he gets the air pounded from his lungs, Stiles still tries to talk to them- _look at me, look at me, remember your anchor, we will make it through this_. He isn’t sure he’s convincing them and sometimes, he sees Erica wince when he’s hit or blink away tears when he spits blood onto the floor. All he knows is that he has to keep them whole and sane. He’s almost glad he was taken with them, if only so that he can remind them that they will survive.

It occurs to him one day that he’s a Spark.

He’s not sure what it means, but he knows that he can make wolves shift. He’s aware that there’s something holding Erica and Boyd back- mountain ash or wolfsbane restraining them. He immediately writes off forcing them to shift, knowing it could do more harm than good. _What else?_ He can’t remember anything specific- everything he’s read clutters up his mind. Spells and wards and everything else he’s learned are there waiting, but he doesn’t know where to start.

It’s not until he’s repeating his usual prayer to Erica and Boyd that he realizes it’s a circle around each of them that’s holding them back. He’d barely been able to see it before; the lights are kept dim, making everything nightmarish and shadowed, but the light swings and he finally breaks eye contact with the two to notice it.

 _Focus,_ Stiles thinks. _Break it. Break it. Break it._

There’s no guarantee that it will work. He doesn’t think his power works like this- he knows he can’t move things from a distance; he’s not telekinetic. Still, something urges him to act. It’s wolfsbane or ash, he knows. There’s something about it he should be able to affect.

The electricity is amped up and just as Erica and Boyd scream through their gags, Stiles screams, channeling his pain and frustration and heartbreak into the sound. He feels the snap- the spark- in a sudden moment, unseen but powerful, and then there’s a metallic noise and the sound of ripping cloth.

When he looks up, Erica and Boyd are free, eyes glowing as they turn on the two men in the room. Stiles blinks, watching the bodies fly into the corner, and then he feels his limbs grow heavy. He feels sore, as if he’s just run a marathon. When he looks, the line of ash is broken.

“We have to go,” Erica says, breathless. She looks anxious and there’s a small crack in her voice, as if she wants to cry. Boyd snaps Stiles’ handcuffs off behind him. His hands are warm. As soon as his arms are free, Stiles reaches out, aware that he’s wasting time but desperate to reassure them.

_Touch is the strongest connection in a pack._

He knows he’s made the right choice when they pull him tight. He feels like he’s being enclosed in something soft and warm and _safe_. It only lasts for a moment before the door opens.

Gerard comes in, something wild in his eyes. Erica and Boyd move quickly, growling, but then there’s the sure slide of a safety and Stiles stands, heart hammering in his chest. He can see the gun pointed in their direction.

“We’ll live,” Erica says darkly.

“Maybe. But he won’t,” the man says, gesturing to Stiles. Boyd steps in the way, glaring.

“You won’t get to him.”

“Are you willing to take the chance?”

 _This can’t continue,_ Stiles thinks. One way or another, they have to get out- and they can’t do that if they’re wounded or if they’re stuck in a cell. He moves closer to Erica and Boyd, trying to reassure them.

“Listen. For now,” he adds quietly, knowing only they will hear. Gerard smiles, the move twisted, and he gestures at Stiles to move forward.

“In front. We’ll make this simple. And if either of you two try something, I’ll shoot him.”

Stiles steps out the door, pausing, trying to memorize everything he’s seeing. _Always look for an opening._ Gerard jabs his shoulder and Stiles tries not to shiver at the coldness he feels thorugh his shoulder.

“Where do I go?”

“Right. Keep walking.”

He walks, turning when commanded. There are no windows. He can hear a tiny delay in Gerard’s footsteps, though. _He’s injured. Or at least weak,_ Stiles thinks. He’s wondering how to take advantage of the limp when they come into a wide room, the space large. Gerard walks him to the center of the room before stepping next to Stiles, keeping the gun behind Stiles’ back.

 _He’s waiting for someone,_ Stiles realizes. Hiding the gun. Erica and Boyd try to move to Stiles’ side but Gerard shakes his head.

“My left,” the man says easily, watching them move with a disgusted expression. “I won’t make it that easy.”

They stand there and Stiles waits, tense. He can hear footsteps echoing- noises. Voices. The people coming sound like they’re running.

_Could it be-?_

From the way Erica and Boyd perk up, he knows he’s right. _The pack is here._ He watches them come in, Talia with Peter and Derek flanking. Chris and Allison are there, along with his father. _Dad._ He can see the relief in the man’s eyes for a brief moment. Scott is there, too, with Jackson by his side. _Almost all of them,_ Stiles thinks, shocked. He suspects Caius and the others are at the entrance, probably guarding Deaton.

“What is this?” Chris asks, breaking the silence.

“I’m surprised you found me. Must have been hard, without your phone,” Gerard replies. His tone is just as underhanded and gloating as it’s been since Stiles met him.

“Gerard. You broke the Accord. You abducted three teenagers-,”

“They’re not teenagers. They’re not like you, Allison,” Gerard adds, something like condescension in his voice as he speaks to his granddaughter. _She’s not going to like that._

Stiles almost laughs when Allison arches an eyebrow. Her finger brushes along her crossbow. He can see her struggling- the desire to fire a bolt into the man conflicting with the fact that he’s her grandfather. He knows which is stronger.

“We can argue about your antiquated opinions after you’ve released them,” Allison says coolly.

“This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed,” Talia says. It’s a warning.

“That’s rich, coming from a werewolf,” Gerard spits. “Where was that sentiment when Kate was killed? Where-,”

“Gerard,” the sheriff interrupts. “You’re breaking a half dozen laws. Forget this werewolf bullshit- you’re wrong. You come with me, I might be able to arrange something that doesn’t end with you locked in a cell smaller than your torture chambers here.”

 _Bad move,_ Stiles thinks, but he knows it was necessary. Gerard glances at Erica and Boyd, frowning. Stiles can see the gears moving in his mind. He can tell what the man is going to do- give away the two that have yielded him no results and turn to the last one he suspects is his ticket out. _He still doesn’t know._

“You can have these two,” Gerard muses, waving at Erica and Boyd. “Go on.”

Stiles watches them move away, relief flooding his veins. _They’re safe. As long as they’re safe._

“You’re surrounded. Alone. Hand Stiles over,” Talia says. Her voice is iron. _I’ve never seen her this angry._

“You won’t risk one of your own. The sheriff won’t risk his son. _My_ useless son won’t risk it,” Gerard adds, a smile flickering on his face. He directs Stiles with one word. “Turn.”

Derek growls when he sees the gun. Stiles stands facing Gerard, the barrel pressed against his chest. It feels colder than ice. It’s almost all he can see, the mass blurry in his vision.

“You put that down,” he hears his father say. His tone is different- it’s the same one he used to use when Stiles’ mother was alive. “This doesn’t have to be messy. You won’t kill a child, will you?”

“They’re not children,” Gerard repeats, as if it’s a simple fact.

“I’m not like them,” Stiles says, finally speaking. “I’m not a wolf. I don’t know what you think-,”

The gun connects with the side of his head. There are noises of fury from the wolves. Stiles licks his lips, tasting blood from where he bit the inside of his cheek. _I don’t really have a choice, here._ He knows there’s no way Gerard is leaving without putting up a fight. He might even be willing to kill Stiles just for the satisfaction of it.

“Thank you,” Stiles says, feeling the weight of dread settle in his chest. For the first time, Gerard turns to look at him, the disgust joined by annoyance and confusion.

“What are you talking about?”

“I needed blood,” Stiles says, spitting onto the man’s face.

Everything happens too quickly. An expression of fury overtakes Gerard’s face but Stiles channels all the energy he has left, urging, reaching into the spark he’d felt before. It flickers and burns to life. He can only do one thing, he knows, and he’s not sure what choice to take. In the end, he burns Gerard. The pain from the spot of blood makes the man jerk reflexively and Stiles moves, hoping he can at least make the bullet non-fatal, and then a shot echoes in the room and there are screams and growls.

Stiles feels the impact. It sends him reeling back on his heels and he blinks, watching Gerard fall as a blurry mass connects with him- _Derek._ Stiles can hear his father calling him and then things get fuzzy. He sinks to his knees, ears ringing. The room seems brighter. He looks down, feeling a sting in his shoulder, and then he sees the blood falling onto the concrete.

“Stiles? Stiles, stay with me, son-,”

They’re the last words he hears before he loses consciousness.

* * *

“…I was going to kill him,” Derek says. The words sound hollow in his ears.

Once upon a time, he’d thought that Peter was completely different from him. He’d thought they were like polar opposites, in some senses. Derek had never truly forgiven Peter for killing Kate- not only because it meant there was no resolution, but because he couldn’t justify the killing.

“Yes,” Peter says, taking the empty chair at Derek’s desk.

It’s the first time they’ve been home since Stiles’ hospitalization. The pack have been taking turns watching over him, both for safety and proximity. Stiles has been sleeping a lot. It hasn’t felt right, even when Derek is there- not for Stiles to be lying so still and quiet.

“Why? I shouldn’t- I know-,”

“What you think you know and believe aren’t the same as what you do,” Peter says. “Especially when you’re in such a dramatic situation. You can never truly know until it happens.”

“You didn’t try to kill Gerard.”

“He didn’t take the person I love.”

Derek can’t answer. He wants to say, _I don’t_ , but it’s not true.

“I can’t.”

“Whether you can or cannot has nothing to do with whether you do,” Peter says, raising an eyebrow. “You should know that.”

He’s been pushing it away since he first met Stiles. The electric touch, the way he can never stop looking at Stiles’ eyes, the way he secretly enjoys the attitude Stiles gives everyone. The sarcasm. The bad jokes. The way he’s always trying to make himself useful, helping a pack that isn’t even technically his. How Stiles looks after the Betas and how they fawn over him, fiercely loyal to a human they’d barely known before.

“I know better than anyone,” Derek says, feeling his throat close. He needs to cry but he doesn’t want to.

“Then maybe you’re the best. You know. You’ve learned.”

“Have I? Or am I just making the same mistakes again?”

“You think Stiles is a mistake?”

“No,” Derek says immediately. He bites his tongue. “I…I wouldn’t know if he were.”

“You would,” Peter sighs, rising from the chair. “My dear, dumb nephew. You know what you feel is right- and you’d know even more if you opened yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When we stopped on that road, you know- I felt Stiles.”

Derek hesitates. _What?_

“I know. You-,”

“No. I _felt_ him. He reached out. Some Druid magic, I think. There’s still a thread there- I could probably follow it to find him, if I worked on it.”

“…why?” _Why not me?_

“You should ask him.”

* * *

Derek waits for Cora to leave. She says something, smiling, and then slips out. Derek glances inside, uneasy.

“He’s better,” she says. “Awake longer. You can talk.”

_Can I, though?_

Stiles is awake. He’s propped up in bed, textbooks stacked on his bedside table. He’d insisted on having his work delivered and the Betas had faithfully complied, promising to study and help as much as possible. _Even shot, he’s still trying to do his best._

“Hey,” Stiles grins. “What’s with the face, sourwolf?”

“Peter told me you have a connection.” _Way to go,_ Derek thinks, heart dropping. _Jumping in without checking for rocks at the bottom._ He wants to take the words back. Stiles blinks, looking uneasy.

“I, uh-,”

“I’m not- I didn’t mean to pry,” Derek says, cursing himself. _He probably doesn’t want to talk about what he went through. It’s barely been a week._ “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Stiles says quickly. “It was- I was trying to reach out. Contact someone. I didn’t have much energy, though, so all I could do was make the connection. I couldn’t communicate.”

“Why him?” Derek asks quietly. There’s no way to make it sound like anything but what it is.

“…it was like a family tree,” Stiles starts, an amused smile curling on his mouth. “I could sense all of you. I tried to reach your branch, but…I was blocked.”

A rush of guilt hits Derek. _He tried to call me. He tried to call for help._ The realization hits him square in the chest. Stiles is still watching him.

“I…I’m sorry. I failed. I wasn’t there for you.”

“Why was that?” Stiles asks quietly, as if he’s coaxing a small animal out of a corner.

“I- I don’t-,”

“Please don’t tell me you don’t know,” Stiles says, closing his eyes for a moment. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek repeats. He can hear Peter in the back of his mind. _He didn’t take the person I love._ “I…you know. You know what I’ve done.”

“I do. Are you the same person?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why are you afraid?”

 _Why am I?_ Maybe he’s afraid because all he thinks of when he looks at the night sky is how Stiles has so many moles. Or maybe it’s because Stiles is more courageous than half the people Derek has ever known, charging into battle with werewolves ten times stronger than him. Maybe because Stiles had sought out training as a way to help others, rather than make himself more powerful. Maybe it’s because Stiles is selfless and Derek feels selfish for wanting him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Derek says, emphasizing every word.

“You can’t,” Stiles says, a small smile curving on his face. “Not unless you pretend you don’t feel anything. Do you?”

“I do. Of course I do,” Derek breathes. Even saying it feels like a tremendous weight lifted from his shoulders. It’s like he’s been in a soundproof room and he’s just walked out into the open air, the world coming alive around him.

“Good,” Stiles says, reaching out. He’s smiling. “That’s step one. Admitting you have a problem.”

“A problem I don’t want to get rid of,” Derek murmurs. The moment he takes Stiles’ hand, he can feel the sparks again, tingling like electricity. There’s only a sense of overwhelming safety and relief.

“I think that was more disgusting than anything romantic you could have said,” Stiles mutters, but he’s blushing and Derek grins, pulling his chair up next to the edge of the bed.

“I have more.”

“I’m injured, Derek-,”

“Second step is asking a greater power to restore our sanity. I don’t think this is insane.”

“I’m starting to think it is.”

* * *

Stiles’ senior year is a rush of ill-advised adventures. He starts to feel like he’s in the _X-Files_ ; every other week there’s a low-level disturbance. It’s as if Gerard’s departure had coaxed all the fairies and witches out of the woodwork. Talia takes to assigning different teams, letting Stiles take groups out to act as bodyguards during the hunts. It gets to the point where Stiles is up to his ears in werewolves, favors owed and given swapped in the form of extra pudding gifted in the cafeteria or homework nights planned during the weekend.

The rumors around school are pretty wild. They range from a wildly polygamous relationship to an exclusive club that parties in swanky houses every night. Stiles isn’t bothered by them, especially when he catches the look two of the girls in his chemistry class send him when Jackson slings an arm over his shoulders.

Aside from his regular supernatural outings, however, he’s also starting to get regular visits from Derek. He’s not sure what to think of them- they’re always innocuous and benign, despite Stiles making lame jokes and flirting.

There’s a tap at his window one night. He nearly rips his earbuds out, heart pounding, and then he sees Derek.

“This isn’t mountain ash, is it?” Derek points to the small trail on the windowsill.

“I don’t know, why don’t you come in and find out?” Stiles smirks. Derek rolls his eyes- these two things are becoming routine- and climbs through.

After the third visit, Stiles had rearranged his bookshelf. He’d gotten tired of picking up things dropped onto the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Research.”

“…what are you really doing?”

“Waiting for you,” Stiles grins. He waits. The faint redness rising in Derek’s face as the man pretends to be disinterested is just what he was looking for.

“I can-,”

“Derek. Do me a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. You don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” Stiles says. He starts to feel a little less confident.

He’s been thinking about how to move forward since their talk at the hospital. Now that he knows Derek feels something, he wants to pursue it. Whatever it is. It doesn’t matter to him whether they cover miles or inches- he just wants to move forward.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll do it,” Derek says.

 _That’s why,_ Stiles thinks, heart leaping into his throat. Derek is frowning a little- probably gauging Stiles’ heartbeat. Before the man can ask anything- likely _what’s wrong_ \- Stiles opens his mouth.

“Kiss me.”

Derek doesn’t move away. It’s a good sign, Stiles thinks distractedly. They’re standing very close together and he wonders when that happened. He doesn’t care, though- not when he can see the indecision and desire fighting in Derek’s eyes. Stiles steps closer, feeling the ghost of breath across his mouth, and he almost opens his mouth to talk again. He almost does, but then Derek tilts his head and then his lips are on Stiles’, warm and just a little dry.

 _I didn’t expect it to be this nice,_ Stiles thinks. Everything about it is careful, just like Derek. It’s also over a little too soon. Which is also like Derek.

“I, um-,” Derek starts, blinking as if it can help him see the words he needs.

“If you tell me you’re sorry, I swear to God you’ll find out if I have wolfsbane. Which I do.”

“I think your father is coming up.”

Stiles curses and turns, trying to figure out what to do. By the time his father opens the door, Stiles is resigned to his early death.

“Homework?”

“What? Uh-,” Stiles looks over his shoulder. Derek is gone. The window is also closed.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, I won’t,” Stiles mutters.

_So close, yet so far._

* * *

Stiles is turning eighteen. He jokingly asks for an escort home- _last time, it didn’t end so well_ \- and Derek is volunteered by his uncle. Peter has been frustratingly sly about his attempts to set them up, especially with Stiles’ impending birthday.

The pack spends the day at the lake. It’s nice- there are burgers and laughter and no worries about anything that might happen. Stiles laughs and runs and teaches Jackson a wrestling move at one point, which does not make Derek growl. By evening, everyone is sated and Stiles is waving around his new bat- a gift from Peter. Everyone is loading into cars and Derek follows Stiles to his Jeep, wondering what to say.

“Dad’s got a date tonight,” Stiles winks. “he felt bad about it, but I made him promise to take me out tomorrow. I told him I’d probably stay over.”

“Stay- what, stay over at the house?” Derek asks, surprised. The Betas sometimes stay, but Stiles has never done it.

“No,” Stiles replies easily, tossing Derek his keys. “I figured I’d keep out of your hair. I’ll pick up some stuff from the house and see if I can ask Scott what he’s doing. Hopefully, he doesn’t have Allison over.”

Derek nods, unable to form an answer. _Do it,_ a tiny voice in his mind says. _You’ve been staring at him all night._

“I…actually have an apartment. If you don’t want to- I mean, if-,”

“Really? Why have I never heard about this?” Stiles exclaims. “I am _betrayed_ -,”

“I didn’t want the Betas trashing it for a party,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. It’s partly true.

“Okay, birthday chauffeur- home first, then apartment.”

Derek doesn’t argue the comment. He’s too nervous. _Did I just invite him to my apartment?_ He only has one bed and a shitty couch. Not that he has a problem giving up the bed- it just feels…strange. He hasn’t had anyone at his apartment. Peter was the last one to use it, when he was recovering. Having Stiles come over feels different. Like there’s something important about it. He’s still trying to figure out what it is when Stiles throws a backpack into his Jeep, turning the radio up as Derek drives them.

It occurs to him when he opens the door that he hasn’t really been in the apartment for months.

“I- it’s been a while; I stop by now and then but I haven’t really cleaned up in a long time,” Derek starts, trying to explain.

“Damn. How much rent do you pay?” Stiles asks, curious.

“I don’t.”

“What, you’re a squatter?”

“I own it,” Derek clarifies, rolling his eyes at the jibe.

“You own the apartment?”

“The building.”

He wants to laugh when Stiles’ eyes widen, so he does. Stiles grins and it makes something shine from inside of him.

“There we go! That’s more like it! Hello, Derek’s laugh, it’s been too long!”

Stiles is very close, Derek realizes. It brings memories back- or one, to be exact. They’ve only ever kissed once, briefly, in Stiles’ room before his father had come upstairs. Derek had thought about it for weeks after- he’d replayed every second, tried to feel it again. He’d almost given in and gone back for another. He hadn’t, though, because he knew better. Maybe Stiles had wanted more, but Derek had known he couldn’t give in. Not when Stiles was still underage and living his life. Not when he had time to find someone- something- better.

“Derek.”

“Hm?”

“I need a favor,” Stiles says, smiling mischievously.

“Okay,” Derek says.

Kissing Stiles feels right; it feels like the world sliding into place, a shift that’s barely noticeable but incredibly important. Any reservations or worries suddenly seem small, outweighed by the gravity of what Derek feels. He can feel the sparks rising again, buzzing against his skin.

Derek is about to move away when he feels Stiles’ tongue press against his mouth, careful, and then he forgets just what he was going to do. His entire world becomes Stiles- the way his mouth feels and the way his hands are pushing Derek’s jacket away, tracing up his arms in soft brushes. It isn’t until he feels hands at his shirt that Derek moves away, aware of what’s happening.

“Wait- Stiles,” Derek starts, trying to remember what he’s supposed to be saying. Stiles tilts his head, eyes dark in the unlit room, and his mouth is red. _Damn._

“Do you not want to?” The question is quiet, barely there in the night.

“No-,” Derek says quickly, before correcting himself, “I mean, yes, but- Stiles. You…we don’t have to rush this. Okay?”

“I know,” Stiles says carefully. “I may have just turned eighteen, but I’m not an idiot, Derek. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, now. Years, actually.”

“Wh- um. I know you’re not an idiot. I just…don’t want you to rush. We have time. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

“I’m not going to waste all that practice,” Stiles snorts, draping his arms over Derek’s shoulders.

“You-,” Derek starts, already starting the next line in his cautioning script, and then his mind short-circuits. “…practice?”

“If you’re not going to kiss me, it’s going to be very difficult for you to get me to the bed,” Stiles says, ignoring the question.

“Wait- practice…you mean, with…someone, or-,”

“What?” Stiles exclaims, flushing red. “Who exactly do you imagine I would practice with?! And why would I- you- do you honestly think I’d have sex with someone else?”

“You could,” Derek says, trying not to sound miserable. “It would be safer with-,”

“What, a human? God, Derek. Maybe I’d have fewer bruises, but what about my heart?”

Derek swallows. _Heart?_ Stiles is still blushing, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes. As if he’s putting everything on the line. _And he is,_ Derek realizes. _He’s been putting it all on the line for the last year and what have I been doing?_

“Your heart?”

“You honestly don’t know?” Stiles asks, quieter. “Derek. _I love you._ This isn’t me being a teenager, or even that weird electric thing I feel when we touch, or the fact that you have really nice arms and a stupidly perfect beard. I love you, okay? I-,”

“I love you,” Derek echoes. Nothing else matters to him- not when all he can hear is Stiles saying _I love you_ , so unexpected and so much more perfect than he ever could have hoped for.

Stiles’ face illuminates like the sun breaking through the clouds and Derek can’t really stop anymore. Not when he knows. This time their kiss is a little more rushed- a little more desperate, because Derek wants to taste every corner of Stiles’ mouth to find _I love you._ Stiles somehow manages to get them into the bedroom, which is supernatural to Derek, and then Derek is pulling Stiles’ shirt off to see a dizzying stretch of pale, dotted skin.

“They’re everywhere,” Derek manages, tracing a hand over a mole on Stiles’ chest. Stiles laughs.

“Yeah, I guess they are,” he says, and then he bites Derek’s neck and all other thoughts go out the window.

Somewhere between the doorway and the bed, their jeans are discarded and their shirts are dropped. Derek is careful when he nudges Stiles onto the bed, trying not to push too hard, but Stiles flops and laughs, arms reaching up to welcome Derek. There’s no way to refuse- not for Derek. He’s attracted to Stiles by some sort of magnetism; he can’t keep himself away. Derek tries to stay far enough away as he leans over Stiles, trying to keep things slow and careful, but he’s increasingly aware of how breathless they are and how warm Stiles feels.

“Do you- ah- have-,” Stiles tries to ask, distracted when Derek tastes a spot on his neck. “ _Derek_.”

“I am Derek,” he jokes, but his tone is all wrong; he’s already reaching for the bedside dresser, trying not to stay away too long. It occurs to him after a moment that he has no idea what Stiles wants, so he tries to come up with a way to ask. “It’s your birthday.”

“You’re gonna do the work, then,” Stiles laughs. Something about it is lower than before. “If- I mean, do-,”

“Makes sense,” Derek says smoothly, letting a kiss calm Stiles. He can tell by his heartbeat that a hitch of nervousness is making him anxious. “I have stamina.”

“Derek, please, now is not the time for your shitty jokes-,”

“…you seem to disagree,” Derek says, fighting a smile. Stiles blushes harder, which Derek almost can’t believe is possible. “If you want to stop-,”

“No, _go_ , I want to go- green light, collect the money, onward-,”

Derek pulls at Stiles’ underwear, taking the distraction as a chance, and he’s rewarded with a small hiss. _Taste,_ something tells him, and before he can consider it any more he does. The second he opens his mouth, Stiles cries out, a hand wildly tugging at Derek’s hair. Derek isn’t sure how to categorize what he tastes- skin, salt, something richer and something entirely Stiles.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles manages, “Please- um, please don’t, right now. I’m not going to last if you do that.”

“…it’s fine if you don’t,” Derek says, moving away. “Like I said-,”

“Yes, yes,” Stiles says, visibly reeling himself in, “but I’d like for us both to get something out of this tonight. Okay?”

“Okay,” Derek promises. _Only one thing to do, then._ He manages to rip open one of the packages from his table with his teeth, the contents spilling over his hand. Stiles watches him, staring as if he wants to memorize everything.

Derek leans down before he starts, sealing his promise with a slower kiss. He presses a finger into Stiles in the middle, careful and slow. Stiles breaks their kiss with a small noise but he’s already relaxing, moving into Derek’s touch. _Practice,_ Derek thinks, feeling warm.

“What did you think about? Practicing?” Derek asks. He feels like he’s whispering but he can’t be sure- everything seems loud in the empty apartment. Stiles moans, nails biting into Derek’s shoulders.

“I- ah- I thought about you,” Stiles says, breathing heavily. His eyes are closed but he tries to open them, unfocused as he tries to come up with words.

“How? What was I doing?”

“You were d- doing this,” Stiles stutters. He pushes his head back into the mattress when Derek adds a finger. Derek can see the plane of his clavicle, stark and raised. He moves closer to suck at the skin there, feeling Stiles arch up towards him.

Derek is almost so distracted that he doesn’t register when Stiles moves further off the bed, using his weight to roll over Derek. Stiles settles over Derek easily, his weight warm and sure, and Derek bites back a noise, hand stuttering. Stiles notices- of course he does- and settles back against Derek, bare skin pressed against cloth.

“Are you ready?” Stiles asks, leaning closer, his breath hot at Derek’s ear.

“Should I be asking you?” Derek replies, laughing breathlessly.

“I’m always ready,” Stiles grins. It’s the last thing he says before he lifts himself just a little and his hands tear at the last bit of material keeping them apart.

Stiles touches him and Derek almost growls. He feels on fire; the sparks are a burn and Derek can’t remember the last time he was touched this way, much less cared for. He’s not sure it’s ever happened.

When Stiles guides him, biting his lip as he waits to move, Derek is sure he doesn’t want it to happen with anyone else.

Stiles takes him patiently, which is almost surprising. Derek feels like he’s gripping Stiles too hard but he can barely concentrate, everything in him crying out to move and take. He knows now isn’t the time, though- they’ll have other nights to figure out how Stiles handles Derek’s strength and how much they can get away with. For now, Derek is content to let Stiles set the tone.

 _And he looks good from below,_ Derek thinks. He thinks Stiles looks even better when he starts moving, the muscles in his arms outlined in moonlight. Derek almost wants to capture an image of the moment, stowed away in perfect beauty. He looks instead, working to memorize the way Stiles’ legs feel at his sides and how their mingled breath starts to match a pulse. He can hear their heartbeats pounding in tandem, racing as if trying to reach each other.

Stiles finishes first, crying out wordlessly, arms shaking as he tries to keep himself upright. Derek moves up to meet him, reveling in the way Stiles tightens around him, and then he’s spiraling through his orgasm, the burning between them white-hot. The small waves that follow loosen his body and Derek looks up at Stiles, out of breath. He reaches out a hand, pulling at Stiles’ chin.

Derek feels Stiles’ mouth, warm against his lips. He registers the sweat on their skin, slick and cool between them. Stiles sighs, moving off to lie by Derek.

“You okay?” Derek asks.

“Better,” Stiles says lazily, smile widening. “But I mean, we could always try again.”

Derek shakes his head but it feels leaden so he stops, settling for looking into Stiles’ eyes. They’re the same warm honey they’ve always been, even if there’s a warmth there that’s been guarded before.

“I do love you,” Derek murmurs, not quite thinking. Stiles smiles, his fingers threading through Derek’s hair.

“I know,” Stiles says, his smile threatening to morph into laughter.

“We’re at Star Wars, now?”

“We’re at Star Wars, now,” Stiles giggles. _Giggles._ Derek sighs through is nose, but he’s smiling, too.

 _This does feel right,_ Derek thinks. _And more than right, it feels like home._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope my giftee enjoys this- and anyone else that happens to read it! It happens to be my first fic with an Incredibly Unnecessarily Long Title. The fic was meant to be much shorter, but it just...spun out of control. Like the title.


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